THIS 


POEMS 


OF 


WILLIAM  COWPER,   ESQ 


OF  THE  INNER  TEMPLE. 


COMPLETE  IN  ONE  VOLUME. 


A  NEW  EDIT 


BOSTON; 

CROSBY,  NICHOLS,  LEE  &  COMPANY; 
I860. 


SKETCH  « *•  .v  :*•• : 

OF  THB 

LIFE  OP  WILLIAM  COWPER,  ESQ. 

OP  THE  INNER  TEMPLE. 


WILLIAM  COWPER  was  born  at  Berkhamstead,  Herts, 
November  26th,  1731.  His  father,  the  rector  of  tjhe  pa- 
was  the  reverend  John  Cowper,  D.  D.,  son  of  Spen- 
owper,  one  of  the  justices  of  the  common  pleas,  a 
er  brother  of  the  lord  chancellor  Cowper.  He  re- 
i  his  early  education  at  a  school  in  his  native  county, 
whence  he  was  removed  to  that  of  Westminster.  Here 
he  acquired  a  competent  portion  of  classical  knowledge; 
but,  from  the  delicacy  of  his  temperament,  and  the  timid 
shyness  of  his  disposition,  he  seems  to  have  endured  a 
species  of  martyrdom  from  the  rudeness  and  tyranny  of 
his  more  robust  companions,  and  to  have  received,  indel- 
ibly, the  impressions  that  subsequently  produced  his  Ti- 
rocinium, in  which  poem  his  dislike  to  the  system  of 
public  education  in  England  is  very  strongly  stated.  On 
leaving  Westminster,  he  was  Articled,  for  three  years,  to 
an  eminent  attorney,  during  which  time  he  appears  to 
have  paid  very  little  attention  to  his  profession ;  nor  uid  he 
alter  on  this  point  after  his  entry  at  the  Temple,  in  order  ta 
qualify  himself  for  the  honourable  and  lucrative  place  of 
clerk  to  the  house  of  lords,  which  post  hia  family  interest 
had  secured  for  him.  While  he  resided  in  fto  temple,  he 
appears  to  have  been  rather  gay  and  social  in  l:is  inter- 
course, numbering  among  his  companions  Lloyd,  Cu  irch- 
ill,  Thornton  and  Colman,  all  of  whom  had  been  his  cotn- 
panions  at  Westminster  school,  and  the  two  latter  of  whom 
ne  assisted  with  some  papers  in  the  Connoisseur.  His 
natural  disposition,  however,  remained  timid  and  diffident, 
and  his  spirits  so  constitutionally  infirm,  that,  when  the 
time  arrived  for  his  assuming  the  post  to  which  he  had 

M98484 


4'«  LIFE  OF   WILLIAM   COWPER. 

been  destined,  he  was  thrown  into  such  unaccountable  terror 
rot'fh^idea  of  making-  his  appearance  before  the  assembled 
peerage,  that  he  vvas  not  only  obliged  to  resign  the  ap- 
pointment, but  vvas  precipitated,  by  nis  agitation  cf  spirits, 
into  a  state  of  great  mental  disorder.  At  this  period,  he 
was  led  into  a  deep  consideration  of  his  religious  state ; 
and, 'having  imbibed  the  doctrine  of  election  and  reproba- 
tion in  its  most  appalling  rigor,  he  was  led  to  a  very  dis- 
mal state  of  apprehension.  We  are  told,  "  that  the  terror 
of  eternal  judgment  overpowered  and  actually  disordered 
his  faculties ;  and  he  remained  seven  montns  in  a  con- 
tinual expectation  of  being  instantly  plunged  into  eternal 
misery."  In  this  shocking  condition  confinement  became 
necessary,  and  he  was  placed  in  a  receptacle  for  lunatics, 
kept  by  the  amiable  and  well-known  doctor  Cottori  of  St. 
Alban's.  At  length,  his  mind  recovered  a  degree  of  se- 
renity, and  he  retired  to  Huntingdon,  where  he  formed  an 
acquaintance  with  the  family  of  the  reverend  Mr.  Unwin, 
which  ripened  into  the  strictest  intimacy.  In  177S',  he 
was  again  assailed  by  religious  despondency,  and  endured 
a  partial  alienation  of  mind  for  some  years,  du^ng  which 
affliction  he  was  highly  indebted  to  the  affectionate  care  ot 
Mrs.  Unwin.  In  1778  he  again  recovered  ;  in  1780  he 
was  persuaded  to  translate  some  of  the  spiritual  songs  ot 
the  celebrated  madame  Guion.  Jn  the  same  and  the  fol- 
lowing year,  he  was  also  induced  to  prepare  a  volume  ol 
poems  for  the  press,  whic&  was  printed  in  1782.  This 
volume  did  not  attract  my  great  degree  of  public  atten- 
tion. The  principal  topics  are,  Error,  Truth,  Expostula- 
tion, Hope,  Charity,  Retirement  and  Conversation  ;  all  of 
which  are  treated  with  originality,  But,  at  the  same  time, 
with  a  portion  of  religious  austerity,  which,  without  some 
very  striking  recommendation,  was"  not,  at  that  time,  of  a 
nature,  16  acquire  popularity.  They  are  in  rhymed  he- 
roirj ;  the  style  being  rather  strong  than  poetical,  although 
never  flat  or  insipid.  A  short  time  before  the  publication 
of  this  volume,  Mr.  Cowper  became  acquainted  with  lady 
Austen,  widow  of  Sir  Robert  Austen,  who  subsequently 
resided,  for  some  time,  at  the  parsonage-house  at  Olney. 
To  the  influence  of  this  lady,  the  world  is  indebted  for  tfie 
exquisitely  humorous  ballad  of  John  Gilpin,  and  the  au- 


LIFE  OF  WILLIAM  COWPER.  5 

ihor's  master-piece,  the  Task.  The  latter  admirable  poem 
chiefly  occupied  his  second  volume,  which  was  published 
in  1785,  and  rapidly  secured  universal  admiration.  The 
Task  unites  minute  accuracy  with  great  elegance  and  pic- 
turesque beauty ;  and,  after  Thomson,  Cowper  is  probably 
the  poet  who  has  added  most  to  the  stock  of  natural  ima- 
gery. The  moral  reflections  in  this  poem  are  also  exceed- 
ingly impressive,  and  its  delineation  of  character  abounds 
in  genuine  nature.  His  religious  system,  too,  although 
discoverable,  is  less  gloomily  exhibited  in  this  than  in  his 
oiher  productions.  This  volume  also  contained  his  Tiro- 
cinium— a  piece  strongly  written,  and  abounding  with 
striking  observations,  whatever  may,  be  thought  of  its  de- 
cision against  public  education.  About  the  year  1784,  he 
began  his  version  of  Homer,  which,  after  many  impedi- 
ments, appeared  in  July,  1791.  This  work  possesses 
much  exactness,  as  to  sense,  and  is  certainly  a  more  accu- 
rate representation  of  Homer  than  the  version  of  Pope ; 
but  English  blank  verse  cannot  sufficiently  sustain  the  less 
poetical  parts  of  Homer,  and  the  general  effect  is  bald  and 
prosaic.  jDisappointed  at  the  reception  of  thi*  laborious 
work,  he  meditated  a  revision  of  h,  as  also  the  superintend- 
ence of  an  edition  of  Milton,  and  a  new  didactic  poem,  to 
be  entitled  the  Fouj  Ages  ;  but,  although  he  occasionally 
wrote  a  few  verses,  and  revised  his  Odyssey,  amidst  his 
glimmerings  of  reason,  those  and  all  other  undertakings 
finally  gave  way  to  a  relapse  of  his  malady.  His  disorder 
extended,  with  little  intermission  to  the  close  of  life; 
which,  melancholy  to  relate,  ended  in  a  state  of  absolute 
despair.  In  1794,  a  pension  of  30Q/.  per  annum  was 
granted  him  by  the  crown.  In  the  beginning  of  1800, 
this  gifted,  but  afflicted  man  of  genius,  exhibited  symptons  < 
of  dropsy,  which  carried  him  off  on  the  25th  of  April  fol- 
lowing. Since  his  death,  Cowper  has,  by  the  care  and 
industry  of  his  friend  and  biographer,  Haley,  become 
known  to  the  world,  as  one  of  the  most  easy  and  elegant 
letter- writers  on  record. 


CONTENTS. 


SKETCH  of  the  Life  of  William  Cowper,  Esq.  8 

Table  Talk, -  9 

Progress  of  Error,          ----.....  ao 

Truth, 46 

Expostulation,         ..........62 

Hope, 82 

Charity, .....102 

Conversation,          -       -       -              -       -       -       -       -       •  119 

Retirement, ......143 

The  Task,  Book  I.  The  Sofa,  ^ 11$ 

II.  The  Time-Piece,  *-    -       -       -       -       -       -  186 

III.  The  Garden     r** 209 

IV.  The  Winter  Evening, 232 

V.  The  Winter  Morning  Walk,   ^-  254 

VI.  The  Winter  Walk  at  Noon,   -       -       -       -  279 

fcpistle  to  Joseph  Hill,  Esq.    -       -       -       -       -       -       -       -307 

Tirocinium ;  or,  a  Review  of  Schools,  --•---'  309 

MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

The  Yearly  Distress,  or  Tithing  Time  at  Stock,  in  Essex,*       -  334 

Sonnet  to  Henry  .Cowper,  Esq.           -        -       -       -        .       .  335 

Lines  addressed  to  Dr.  Darwin,  .......  337 

On  Mrs.  Montagu's  Feather  Hangings       .....  338 

Verses  supposed  to  be  written  by  Alexander  Selkirk,        -       -  339 

On  the  Promotion  of  Edward  Tnurlow,  Esq.    •  341 

Ode  to  Peace, -       -       -       ...  342 

Human  Frailty,  -                                ...        ...  343 

The  Modern  Patriot, ib 

On  observing  Borne  names  of  little  note  recorded  in  the  Biographia 

Brittannica,   ----------  344 

Report  of  an  adjudged  case,  not  to  be  found  in  any  of  the  books,  245 

On  the  burning  of  Lord  Mansfield's  library,      -  346 

On  the  same,        ----.-....  ib 

The  love  of  the  world  reproved,  .....              -  347 

U«:  the  death  of  Lady  Tnrockmorton's  Bulfmch,      -       -       -  848 

neRose, 350 

f  he  Doves,  ...........  351 

A  Fable,  " 352 

A  Comparison,     ----.-.-..  353 

Another,  addressed  to  a  young  lady,    ......  394 

The  Poet's  New- Year's  Gift,       .......  #> 

Ode  to  Apollo,    - 355 

Pairing  Time  anticipated.    A  fable,  -        -        -        -        -        -  356 

The  Dog  and  the  Water  Lily, 358 

The  Poet,  the  Oyster,  and  the  Sensitive  Plant,         ...  359 

The  Shrubbery, 361 

The  Winter  Nosegay, 362 

Mutual  forbearance  necessary  to  the  happiness  of  the  married  state,  363 


CONTENTS.  7 

— The  Negro's  complaint,      -..-•••.  355 

Pity  for  poor  Africans,         ........  360 

The  Morning  Dream,  ---------  368 

-afr-The  Nightingale  and  Glow  Worm,    ---•••  369-* 

On  a  Gold  finch  starved  to  death  in  his  cage,      -  871 

The  Pine-apple  and  the  Bee.       ...-.--  ft 

Horace,  Book  II.  Ode  X, 878 

A  reflection  on  the  foregoing  ode,       .......  373 

The  Lily  and  the  Rose,      --.-----  374 

Idem  Latine  Redditum,       ........  375 

The  Poplar  field.          -               876 

Idem  Latine  Redditum,       ...-••••  ib 

Votum,          ......  .... 

Translation  of  Prior's  Chloeiuid  Euphelia,       .... 

-*^The  history  of  J/Jnn  Gilpin,^   .......  373 

Epistle  to  an  afflkleji-PTtrtestant  lady  in  France,      ...  386 

To  the  Rev.  W.  CTUnwin,          .---.-.  387 

To  the  Rev.  Mr.  Newton, --  388 

Catharina.           ..........  389 

The  Mora  lizer  corrected,     ........  891 

The  Faithful  Bird, 392 

The  Needless  alarm,  -.----•--  894 

Boadicea,             ..-.-...-.  397 
Jleroism,             ...........  399 

the  receipt  of  my  mother's  picture  out  of  Norfolk,  401 

Frjerjdship,          -----..-..  405— 

On  a  rnl8Chievous  Bull,       ........  411 

Annus  Mgrnorabilis,  1789»    •----•••  412 

Hymn  for  x.^  use  of  the  Sunday  Scbaol 1  at  Olney,    -        -       -  414 

Stanzas  sub  Jine<*  to  a  Du*  ot  mortality  for  the  year  1787,         -  416 

The  same!                           -                                       ...  415 

The  same  for  1789,       -       * 

The  same  for  1790,       - ,- 

The  same  for  1792,              ™ 

The  same  for  1793,       -  

Epitaph  on  Mr.  Hamilton, 

—Epitaph  on  a  Hare,      ...  w 

Epitaphium  Alterum,                                                   ~.      "       "  *** 
Stanzas  on  the  first  publication  of  Sir  (jharles  Grandison, 

Address  to  Miss ,  on  reading  the  Prayer  for  Indifference,    -  426 

A  Tale  founded  on  a  fact,            -       -       -    .  -       -       -       -  42^ 

To  the  Rev.  Mr.  Newton,  on  his  return  from  Ramsgate,   - 
Poetical  epistle  to  Lady  Austen,         ------ 

Song,  written  at  the  request  of  Lady  Austen,     -    • 

Verses  from  a  poem  entitled  Valediction,   - 

Epitaph  on  Johnson,   .-•-•-•-• 

To  Miss  C ,  on  her  birth-day, 

Gratitude,     ---.-•--.•- 

,,  The  flatting  Mill, x  J5 

ff  To  Mrs-.  Throckmorton,      ..---.--  ,440 

On  the -late  indecent  liberties  taken  with  the  remains  of  Milton,  io 

To  Mrs:  King,               441 

The  judgment  of  the  Poets, ,442 

Epitaph  on  Mrs.  M.  Higgins,  of  Weston,                                  •  444 

The  Retired  Cat, ib 

To  the  Nightingale,      .........  44/ 

Sonnet  to  W.  Wilberforce,  Esq.         ......  448 

Epigram,              ..........  449 

To  Dr.  Austin,     --.--.-..  ib 
Sonnet,  addressed  to  William  Hayley,  Esq.       -•••*& 


g  CONTENTS. 

Catharina,  .........  430 

Sonnet  to  George  Romney,  Esq.         ......  451 

On  receiving  Hayley's  picture,     -       -       -       -      .-       -       -462 

On  a  plant  of  Virgin'  s-bower,     •       --       -       -       -        -  *&,» 

To  my  cousin,  Anne  Bod  ham,     -.--.-.  ib 

To  Mrs.  Unwin,  ......  453 

To  Williani  Hayley.  Esq.     --•--..,      -  t6, 

On  a  Spaniel,  called  Beau,  killing  a  bird,   -  454 

Beau's  reply,        ------•••.  455 

-"ToMary,  -       - 456 

On  the  Ice  Islands,     .........  467 

—  The  Castaway,  ---•......  459 

Translations  from  Vincent  Bourne. 

I.  The  Glow  Worm,   - 461 

II.  The  Jackdaw,         -       -       .       .       .       -       -       .  _  462 

HI.  The  Cricket, 463 

IV.  The  Parrot, 464 

V.  The  Thracian,        ........  455 

VI.  Reciprocal  Kindness,  .       .       .       .  466 

VII.  A  Manual,  467 

VIII.  An  Enigma,    .........  469 

IX.  Spar-rows  self-domesticated,  -  470 

X.  Familiarity  dangerous.  .......  471 

XI.  Invitation  to  the  Red-breast,  -       -       -       -       . 

XII.  Strada's  Nightingale,     -       , 472 

XIII.  Ode  on  the  death  of  a  Lady  -       -       -  -       *  473 

XIV.  The  Cause  won,     ........  474 

XV.  The  Silk  Worm.    -  < 475 

XVI.  The  Innocent  Thief, 47« 

£VII.  Denner's  Old  Woman,   -.-.._„  47r 

XVIII.  The  Tears  of  a  Painter,          -       -       -      --  ib 

XIX.  The  Maze, 478 

XX.  No  Sorrow  peculiar  to  the  Sufferer,     ....  47-9 

XXI.  The  Snail, {ft 

The  Contrite  Heart,  -       -  ....  400 

The  shining  Light,      --•--....  431 

Thirsting  for  God,       ---......  ft 

A  Tale,         --•--..._..  432 

Song  on  Peace,    -%      -••./-       -       -       -        -       •       -  485 

Sonnet  to  John  Jonnson..t       .......  495 

Inscription  on  a  grove  opOaks,  --..--.  ib 

Love  Abused,       -      .:?      -       .......  497 

Memorial  for  Ashley^cOwper,  Esq.     -       -       .       .       -       -  488 

To  the  memory  of/John  llioniton,  Esq.    .       .       .       .       .  ib 

To  a  Young  Kriend.   -       -        -       -'-       --       -       -  499 

To.them^oiyof  Dr.  Lloyd, ib 

Ep»tapt  on  Fop  a  dog.        .......  491 


THE  POEMS 

OP 

WILLIAM    COWPER,  ESQ, 

O^   THE   INNER  TEMPLE. 


TABLE    TALK. 

Si  te  forte  me»  gravis  uret  sarcina  chart®, 
Abjicito—  Hor.  Lib.  1.  Epist  13. 


A.  YOU  told  me,  1  remember,  glory,  built 
On  selfish  principles,  is  shame  and  guilt ; 
The  deeds  that  men  admire  as  half  divine, 
Stark  naught,  because  corrupt  in  their  design. 
Strange  doctrine  this  !  that  without  scruple  tears 
The  laurel,  that  the  very  lightning  spares ; 
Brings  down  the  warrior's  trophy  to  the  dust, 
And  eats  into  his  bloody  sword  like  rust. 

B.  I  grant  that,  men  continuing  what  they  are, 
Pierce,  avaricious,  proud,  there  must  be  war  ; 
And  never  meant  the  rule  should  be  applied 

To  him  that  fights  with  justice  on  his  side. 

Let  laurels,  drenched  in  pure  Parnassian  dews 
Reward  his  memory,  dear  to  every  muse, 
Who,  with  a  courage  of  unshaken  root, 
In  Honour's  field  advancing  his  firm  foot, 
Plants  it  upon  the  line  that  Justice  draws, 
And  will  prevail  or  perish  in  her  cause. 
'Tis  to  the  virtues  of  such  men,  man  owes 
His  portion  in  the  good  that  heaven  bestows. 
And  when  recording  History  displays 
Peats  of  renown,  though  wrought  in  ancient  days, 
Tells  of  a  few  stout  hearts,  that  fought  and  died, 
Where  duty  placed  them  at  their  country's  side  ; 


10  TABLE  TALK. 

The  man,  that  is  not  moved  with  what  he  reads, 
That  takes  not  fire  at  their  heroic  deeds, 
Unworthy  of  the  blessings  of  the  brave, 
Is  base  in  kind,  and  born  to  be  a  slave. 

But  let  eternal  infamy  pursue 
The  wretch  to  naught  but  his  ambition  true, 
Who,  for  the  sake  of  filling  with  one  blast 
The  post-horns  of  all  Europe,  lays  her  waste. 
Think  yourself  stationed  on  a  towering  rock, 
To  see  a  people  scattered  like  a  flock, 
Some  royal  mastiff  panting  at  their  heels, 
With  all  the  savage  thirst  a  tiger  feels ; 
Then  view  him  self-proclaimed  in  a  gazette 
Chief  monster  that  has  plagued  the  nations  yet ; 
The  globe  and  sceptre  in  such  hands  misplaced, 
Those  ensigns  of  dominion,  how  disgraced  ! 
The  glass  that  bids  man  mark  the  fleeting  hour, 
And  Death's  own  scythe,  would  better  speak  his  pow'r 
Then  grace  the  bony  phantom  in  their  stead 
With  the  king's  shoulder-knot  and  gay  cockade 
Clothe  the  twin  brethren  in  each  other's  dress, 
The  same  their  occupation  and  success. 

A.  'Tis  your  belief  the  world  was  made  for  rnan ; 
Kings  do  but  reason  on  the  self-same  plan  : 
Maintaining  yours,  you  cannot  theirs  condemn, 
Who  think,  or  seem  to  think,  man  made  for  them. 

B.  Seldom,  alas  !  the  power,  of  logic  reigns 
With  much  sufficiency  in  roya1  brains ; 
Such  reasoning  falls  like  an  inverted  cone, 
Wanting  its  proper  base  to  stand  upon. 

Man  made  for  kings  !  those  optics  are  but  dim, 
That  tell  you  so — say,  rather,  they  for  him. 
That  were  indeed  a  king-ennobling  thought, 
Could  they,  or  would  they,  reason  as  they  ought 
The  diadem,  with  mighty  projects  lined, 
To  catch  renown  by  ruining  mankind, 
Is  worth,  with  all  its  gold  and  glittering  store, 
Just  what  the  toy  will  sell  for,  and  no  more. 


TABLE  TALK.  11 

Oh  !  bright  occasions  of  dispensing  good, 
How  seldom  used,  how  little  understood  ! 
To  pour  in  Virtue's  lap  her  just  reward ; 
Keep  Vice  restrained  behind  a  double  guard ; 
To  quell  the  faction,  that  affronts  the  throne, 
By  silent  magnanimity  alone  ; 
To  nurse  with  tender  care  the  thriving  arts ; 
Watch  every  beam  Philosophy  imparts  ; 
To  give  Religion  her  unbridled  scope, 
Nor  judge  by  statute  a  believer's  hope  ; 
With  close  fidelity  and  love  unfeigned, 
To  keep  the  matrimonial  bond  unstained ; 
Covetous  only  of  a  virtuous  praise  ; 
His  life  a  lesson  to  the  land  he  sways  ; 
To  touch  the  sword  with  conscientious  awe, 
Nor  draw  it  but  when  duty  bids  him  draw ; 
To  sheathe  it  in  the  peace-restoring  close 
With  joy  beyond  what  victory  bestows  ; — 
Blest  country,  where  these  kingly  glories  shine! 
Blest  England,  if  this  happiness  be  thine  ! 

A.  Guard  what  you  say,  the  patriotic  tribe 
Will  sneer,  and  charge  you  with  a  bribe — 

JB.  A  bribe? 

The  worth  of  his  three  kingdoms  I  defy, 
To  lure  me  to  the  baseness  of  a  lie  : 
And,  of  all  lies  (be  that  one  poet's  boast,) 
The  lie  that  flatters  I  abhor  the  most. 
Those  arts  be  theirs,  who  hate  his  gentle  reign ; 
But  he  that  loves  him  has  no  need  to  feign. 

A.  Your  smooth  eulogium  to  one  crown  addrest, 
Seems  to  imply  a  censure  on  the  rest. 

B.  Quevedo,  as  he  tells  his  sober  tale, 
Asked,  when  in  hell,  to  see  the  royal  jail ; 
Approved  their  method  in  all  other  things  : 

But  where,  good  sir,  do  you  confine  your  kings  1 
There — said  his  guide — the  group  is  full  in  view. 
Indeed  ? — replied  the  don — there  are  but  few. 
His  black  interpreter  the  charge  disdained — 


12  TABLE   TALK. 

Pew,  fellow  ? — there  are  all  that  ever  reigned 

Wit,  undistinguishing,  is  apt  to  strike 

The  guilty  and  not  guilty  both  alike  : 

[  grant  the  sarcasm  is  too  severe, 

And  we  can  readily  refute  it  here  ; 

While  Alfred's  name,  the  father  of  his  age, 

And  the  sixth  Edward's  grace  th'  historic  page. 

A.  Kings  then,  at  last,  have  but  the  lot  of  all : 
By  their  own  conduct  they  must  stand  or  fall. 

B.  True.    While  they  live,  the  courtly  laureat  pays 
His  quitrent  ode,  his  peppercorn  of  praise  ; 

And  many  a  dunce,  whose  fingers  itch  to  write, 
Adds,  as  he  can,  his  tributary  mite. 
A  subject's  faults  a  subject  may  proclaim, 
A  monarch's  errors  are  forbidden  ^ame  ! 
Thus,  free  from  censure,  overawed  by  fear, 
And  praised  for  virtues  that  they  scorn  to  wear, 
The  fleeting  forms  of  majesty  engage 
Respect,  while  stalking  o'er  life's  narrow  stage  ; 
Then  leave  their  crimes  for  history  to  scan, 
And  ask,  with  busy  scorn,  was  this  the  man  ? 

I  pity  kings,  whom  Worship  waits  upon 
Obsequious  from  the  cradle  to  the  throne  ; 
Before  whose  infant  eyes  the  flatterer  bows, 
And  binds  a  wreath  about  their  baby  brows  ; 
Whom  Education  stiffens  into  state, 
And  Death  awakens  from  that  dream  too  late. 
Oh  !  if  Servility,  with  supple  knees, 
Whose  trade  it  is  to  smile,  to  crouch,  to  please ; 
If  smooth  Dissimulation,  skilled  to  grace 
A  devil's  purpose  with  an  angel's  face  ; 
If  smiling  peeresses,  and  simpering  peers, 
Encompassing  his  throne  a  few  short  years ; 
If  the  gilt  carriage  and  the  pampered  steed, 
That  wants  no  driving,  and  disdains  the  lead  ; 
If  guards,  mechanically  formed  in  ranks, 
Playing,  at  beat  of  drum,  their  martial  pranks, 
Shouldering  and  standing  as  if  struck  to  stone, 


TABLE   TALK.  ;3 

While  condescending  majesty  looks  on  : 
If  monarchy  consist  in  such  base  things, 
Sighing,  I  say  again,  I  pity  kings : 

To  be  suspected,  thwarted,  and  withstood, 
E'en  when  he  labours  for  his  country's  good ; 
To  see  a  band  called  patriot  for  no  cause, 
But  that  they  catch  at  popular  applause, 
Careless  of  all  the  anxiety  he  feels, 
Hook  disappointment  on  the  public  wheels ; 
With  all  their  flippant  fluency  of  tongue, 
Most  confident  when  palpably  most  wrong ; 
If  this  be  kingly,  then  farewell  for  me 
All  kingship  ;  and  may  I  be  poor  and  free ! 
To  be  the  table  talk  of  clubs  up-stairs, 
To  which  th'  unwashed  artificer  repairs, 
T'  indulge  his  genius  after  long  fatigue, 
By  diving  into  cabinet  intrigue ; 
(For  what  kings  cleem  a  toil,  as  well  they  may, 
To  him  is  relaxation  and  mere  play ;) 
To  win  no  praise  when  well-wrought  plans  prevail. 
But  to  be  rudely  censured  when  they  fail ; 
To  doubt  the  love  his  favourites  may  pretend, 
And  in  reality  to  find  no  friend ; 
If  he  indulge  a  cultivated  taste, 
His  galleries  with  the  works  of  art  well  graced, 
To  hear  it  called  extravagance  and  waste  ; 
If  these  attendants,  and  if  such  as  these, 
Must  follow  royalty,  then  welcome  ease ; 
However  humbled  and  confined  the  sphere, 
Happy  the  state  that  has  not  these  to  fear. 

A.  Thus  men,  whose  thoughts  contemplative  have 

dwelt 

On  situations  that  they  never  felt, 
Start  up  sagacious,  covered  with  the  dust, 
Of  dreaming  study  and  pedantic  rust, 
And  prate  and  preach  about  what  others  prove, 
As  if  the  world  and  they  were  hand  and  glove. 
Leave  kingly  backs  to  cope  with  kingly  cares  ; 


4  TABLE    TALK. 

They  have  their  weight  to  carry,  subjects  theirs ; 
Poets,  of  all  men,  ever  least  regret 
Increasing  taxes  and  the  nation's  debt. 
Could  you  contrive  the  payment,  and  rehearse 
The  mighty  plan,  oracular,  in  verse, 
No  bard,  howe'er  majestic,  old  or  new, 
Should  claim  my  fixed  attention  more  than  you. 
B.  Not  Brindley  nor  Bridgewater  would  essay 
To  turn  the  course  of  Helicon  that  way ; 
Nor  would  the  Nine  consent  the  sacred  tide 
Should  purl  amidst  the  traffic  of  Cheapside, 
Or  tinkle  in  'Change  Alley,  to  amuse 
The  leathern  ears  of  stockjobbers  and  Jews. 

A.  Vouchsafe,  at  least,  to  pitch  the  key  of  rhyme 
To  themes  more  pertinent,  if  less  sublime. 

When  ministers  and  ministerial  arts  ; 

Patriots,  who  love  good  places  at  their  hearts ; 

When  admirals,  extolled  for  standing  still, 

Or  doing  nothing  with  a  deal  of  skill ; 

Gen'rals,  who  will  not  conquer  when  they  may, 

Firm  friends  to  peace,  to  pleasure,  and  good  pay ; 

When  Freedom,  wounded  almost  to  despair, 

Though  Discontent  alone  can  find  out  where ; 

When  themes  like  these  employ  the  poet's  tongue, 

I  hear  as  mute  as  if  a  syren  sung. 

Or  tell  me,  if  you  can,  what  power  maintains, 

A  Briton's  scorn  of  arbitrary  chains  : 

That  were  a  theme  might  animate  the  dead, 

And  move  the  lips  of  poets  cast  in  lead. 

B.  The  cause,  tho'  worth  the  search,  may  yet  elude 
Conjecture  and  remark,  however  shrewd. 

They  take  perhaps  a  well-directed  aim, 
Who  seek  it  in  his  climate  and  his  frame. 
Liberal  in  all  things  else,  yet  Nature  here 
With  stern  severity  deals  out  the  year, 
Winter  invades  the  spring,  and  often  pours 
A  chilling  flood  on  summer's  drooping  flowers  ; 
Unwelcome  vapours  quench  autumnal  beams, 


TABLte   TALK.  1ft 

Ungenial  blasts  attending  curl  the  streams  : 

The  peasants  urge  their  harvest,  ply  the  fork 

With  double  toil,"  and  shiver  at  their  work  ; 

Thus  with  a  rigour  for  his  good  designed, 

She  rears  her  favourite  man  of  all  mankind. 

His  form  robust  and  of  elastic  tone, 

Proportioned  well,  half  muscle  and  half  bone, 

Supplies  with  warm  activity  and  force 

A  mind  well  lodged,  and  masculine  of  course. 

Hence  Liberty,  sweet  Liberty  inspires 

And  keeps  alive  his  fierce  but  noble  fires. 

Patient  of  constitutional  control, 

He  bears  it  with  meek  manliness  of  soul ; 

But  if  Authority  grow  wanton,  wo 

To  him  that  treads  upon  his  free-born  toe  ; 

One  step  beyond  the  boundary  of  the  laws 

Fires  him  at  once  in  Freedom's  glorious  cause. 

Thus  proud  Prerogative,  not  much  revered, 

Is  seldom  felt,  though  sometimes  seen  and  heard ; 

And  in  his  cage,  like  parrot  fine  and  gay, 

Is  kept  to  strut,  look  big,  and  talk  away. 

Born  in  a  climate  softer  far  than  ours, 
Not  formed,  like  us,  with  such  Herculean  powers, 
The  Frenchman,  easy,  debonair,  and  brisk, 
Give  him  his  lass,  his  fiddle,  and  his  frisk 
Is  always  happy,  reign  whoever  may, 
And  laughs  the  sense  of  misery  far  away. 
He  drinks  his  simple  beverage  with  a  gust ; 
And,  feasting  on  an  onion  and  a  crust, 
We  never  feel  th'  alacrity  and  joy 
With  which  he  shouts  and  carols  Vive  le  Roi> 
Filled  with  as  much  true  merriment  and  glee, 
As  if  he  heard  his  king  say — Slave,  be  free. 

Thus  happiness  depends,  as  Nature  shows, 
Less  on  exterior  things  than  most  suppose, 
Vigilant  over  all  that  he  has  made, 
Kind  Providence  attends  with  gracious  aid  ; 
Rids  equity  throughout  his  works  prevail. 


16  TABLE   TALK. 

And  weighs  the  nations  in  an  even  scale  ; 
He  can  encourage  Slavery  to  a  smile, 
And  fill  with  discontent  a  British  isle. 

A.  Freeman,  and  slave  then,  if  the  case  be  such, 
Stand  on  a  level ;  and  you  prove  too  much  : 

If  all  men  indiscriminately  share 
His  fostering  power,  and  tutelary  care, 
As  well  be  yoked  by  Despotism's  hand, 
As  dwell  at  large  in  Britain's  chartered  land. 

B.  No.    Freedom  has  a  thousand  charms  to  show. 
That  slaves,  howe'er  contented,  never  know. 

The  mind  attains  beneath  her  happy  reign, 

The  growth,  that  Nature  meant  she  should  attain ; 

The  varied  fields  of  science,  ever  new, 

Opening  and  wider  opening  on  her  view, 

She  ventures  onward  with  a  prosperous  force, 

While  no  base  fear  impedes  her  in  her  course. 

Religion,  richest  favour  of  the  skies, 

Stands  most  revealed  before  the  freeman's  eyes ; 

No  shades  of  superstition  blot  the  day, 

1  jberty  chases  all  that  gloom  away 

The  soul  emancipated,  unopprest, 

Free  to  prove  all  things,  and  hold  fast  the  best, 

I  earns  much  ;  and  to  a  thousand  listening  minds 

Communicates  with  joy  the  good  she  finds  : 

Courage  in  arms,  and  ever  prompt  to  show 

His  manly  forehead  to  the  fiercest  foe  ; 

Glorious  in  war,  but  for  the  sake  of  peace, 

His  spirits  rising  as  his  toils  increase, 

Guards  well  what  arts  and  industry  have  won, 

And  Freedom  claims  him  for  her  first-born  son. 

Slaves  fight  for  what  were  better  cast  away — 

The  chains  that  bind  them,  and  a  tyrant's  sway ; 

But  they  that  fight  for  freedom,  undertake 

The  noblest  cause  mankind  can  have  at  stake : — 

Religion,  virtue,  truth,  whate'er  we  call 

A  blessing — freedom  is  the  pledge  of  all. 

O  Liberty  !  the  prisoner's  pleasing  dream, 


TABLE    TALK.  2? 

The  poet's  muse,  his  passion,  and  his  theme; 

Genius  is  thine,  and  thou  art  fancy's  nurse  ; 

Lost  without  th'  ennobling  powers  of  verse ; 

Heroic  song  from  thy  free  touch  acquires 

Its  clearest  tone,  the  rapture  it  inspires : 

Place  me  where  Winter  breathes  his  keenest  air, 

And  I  will  sing,  if  Liberty  be  there ; 

And  I  will  sing  at  Liberty's  dear  feet, 

In  Afric's  torrid  clime,  or  India's  fiercest  heat. 

A.  Sing  where  you  please,  in  such  a  cause  I  grant 
An  English  poet's  privilege  to  rant ; 

But  is  not  Freedom — at  least  is  not  ours 
Too  apt  to  play  the  wanton  with  her  powers, 
jlrow  freakish,  and,  o'erleaping  every  mound, 
Spread  anarchy  and  terror  all  around  ? 

B.  Agreed.     But  would  you  sell  or  slay  your  horse 
For  bounding  and  curveting  in  his  course  ? 

Or  if,  when  ridden  with  a  careless  rein, 

He  break  away,  and  seek  the  distant  plain? 

No.     His  high  mettle,  under  good  control, 

Gives  him  Olympic  speed,  and  shoots  him  to  the  goal. 

Let  discipline  employ  her  wholesome  arts ; 
Let  magistrates  alert  perform  their  parts ; 
Not  skulk  or  put  on  a  prudential  mask, 
As  if  their  duty  were  a  desperate  task ; 
Let  active  laws  apply  the  needful  curb, 
To  guard  the  peace  that  Riot  would  disturb ; 
And  Liberty,  preserved  from  wild  excess, 
Shall  raise  no  feuds  for  armies  to  suppress. 
When  Tumult  lately  burst  his  prison-door, 
And  set  plebeian  thousands  in  a  roar  ; 
When  he  usurped  Authority's  just  place 
And  dared  to  look  his  master  in  the  face, 
When  the  rude  rabble's  watch-word  was — Destroy, 
And  blazing  London  seemed  a  second  Troy ; 
Liberty  blushed  and  hung  her  drooping  head, 
Beheld  their  progress  with  the  deepest  Sread  ; 
Blushed,  that  effects  like  these  she  should  produce, 
2* 


18  TABLE    TA  L  K. 

Worse  enan  the  deeds  of  galley-slaves  broke  loose, 

She  loses  in  such  storms  her  very  n^me, 

And  fierce  licentiousness  should  bear  the  blame. 

Incomparable  gem  !  thy  worth  untold  ; 
Cheap  though  blood^bought,  and  thrown  away  when 

sold ; 

May  no  foes  ravish  thee,  and  no  false  friend 
Betray  thee,  while  professing  to  defend  ! 
Prize  it,  ye  ministers ;  y«  monarchs,  spare ; 
Ye  Patriots,  guard  it  with  a  miser's  care. 

A.  Patriots,  alas !  the  fe\v  that  have  been  found 
Where  most  they  flourish,  upon  English  ground, 
The  country's  need  have  scantily  supplied, 

And  the  last  left  the  scene  when  Chatham  died. 

B.  Not  so — the  virtue  still  adorns  our  age, 
Though  the  chief  actor  died  upon  the  stage. 
In  him  Demosthenes  was  heard  again  ; 
Liberty  taught  him  her  Athenian  strain ; 
She  clothed  him  with  authority  and  awe, 
Spoke  from  his  lips,  and  in  his  looks  gave  law. 
His  speech,  his  form,  his  action,  full  of  grace, 
And  all  his  country  beaming  in  his  face, 

He  stood,  as  some  inimitable  hand 

Would  strive  to  make  a  Paul  or  Tully  stand. 

No  sycophant  or  slave,  that  dared  oppose 

Her  sacred  cause,  but  trembled  when  he  rose ; 

And  every  venal  stickler  for  the  yoke 

Pelt  himself  crushed  at  the  first  word  he  spoke. 

Such  men  are  raised  to  station  and  command, 
When  Providence  means  mercy  to  a  land, 
He  speaks,  and  they  appear ;  to  him  they  owe 
Skill  to  direct,  and  strength  to  strike  the  blow  ; 
To  manage  with  address,  to  s&tze  with  power 
The  crisis  of  a  dark  decisive  hour ; 
So  Gideon  earned  a  victory  not  his  own  ; 
Subserviency  his  praise,  and  that  alone. 

Poor  England  !  thou  art  a  devoted  deer, 
Beset  with  every  ill  but  that  of  fear. 


TABLE    TALK.  19 

The  nations  hunt ;  all  mark  thee  for  a  prey  ; 
They  swarm  around  thee,  and  thou  stand'st  at  bay, 
Undaunted  still,  though  wearied  and  perplexed; 
Once  Chatham  saved  thee  ;  but  who  saves  thee  next? 
Alas  !  the  tide  of  pleasure  sweeps  along 
All,  that  should  be  the  boast  of  British  song. 
Tis  not  the  wreath  that  once  adorned  thy  brow, 
The  prize  of  happier  times,  will  serve  thee  now. 
Our  ancestry,  a  gallant,  chieftain  race, 
Patterns  of  every  virtue,  every  grace, 
Confessed  a  God ;  they  kneeled  before  they  fought. 
And  praised  him  in  the  victories  he  wrought. 
Now  from  the  dust  of  ancient  days  bring  forth 
Their  sober  zeal,  integrity,  and  worth  ; 
Courage,  ungraced  by  these,  affronts  the  skies, 
Is  but  the  fire  without  the  sacrifice. 
The  stream,  that  feeds  the  wellspring  of  the  heart 
Not  more  invigorates  life's  noblest  part, 
Than  virtue  quickens,  with  a  warmth  divine, 
The  powers,  that  Sin  has  brought  to  a  decline. 

A.  Th'  inestimable  Estimate  of  Brown 
Rose  like  a  paper  kite,  and  charmed  the  town  ; 
But  measures,  planned  and  executed  well, 
Shifted  the  wind  that  raised  it,  and  it  fell. 

He  trod  the  very  self-same  ground  you  tread, 
And  victory  refuted  all  he  said. 

B.  And  yet  his  judgment  was  not  framed  amiss ; 
Its  error,  if  it  erred,  was  merely  this — 

He  thought  the  dying  hour  already  come, 
And  a  complete  recovery  struck  him  dumb. 

But  that  effeminacy,  folly,  lust, 
Enervate  and  enfeeble,  and  needs  must ; 
And  that  a  nation  shamefully  debased, 
Will  be  despised  and  trampled  on  at  last, 
Unless  sweet  Penitence  her  powers  renew  ; 
Is  truth,  if  history  itself  be  true. 
There  is  a  time,  and  Justice  marks  the  date, 
For  long-forbearing  clemency  to  wait ; 


2C  TABLE    TALK. 

That  hour  elapsed,  the  incurable  revolt 
Is  punished,  and  down  comes  the  thunderbolt 
If  Mercy  then  put  by  the  threat'ning  blow, 
Must  she  perform  the  same  kind  office  now  t 
May  she  !  and,  if  offended  Heaven  be  still 
Accessible,  and  prayer  prevail,  she  will. 
'Tis  not,  however,  insolence  and  noise, 
The  tempest  of  tumultuary  joys, 
Nor  is  it  yet  despondence  and  dismay 
Will  win  her  visits,  or  engage  her  stay 
Prayer  only,  and  the  penitential  tear, 
Can  call  her  smiling  down,  and  fix  her  here. 

But  when  a  country  (one  that  I  could  name; 
In  prostitution  sinks  the  sense  of  shame  : 
When  infamous  Venality,  grown  bold, 
Writes  on  his  bosom,   to  be  let  or  sold  ; 
When  Perjury,  that  Heaven-defying  vice, 
Sells  oaths  by  tale,  and  at  the  lowest  price  ; 
Stamps  God's  own  name  upon  a  lie  just  made, 
To  turn  a  penny  in  the  way  of  trade  ; 
When  Avarice  starves  (and  never  hides  his  face) 
Two  or  three  millions  of  the  human  race, 
And  not  a  tongue  inquires,  how,  where,  or  when, 
Though  conscience  will  have  twinges  now  and  theu 
When  profanation  of  the  sacred  cause 
In  all  its  parts,  times,  ministry,  and  laws, 
Bespeaks  a  land,  once  Christian,  fallen  and  lost, 
In  all,  that  wars  against  the  title  most ; 
What  follows  next  let  cities  of  great  name, 
And  regions  long  since  desolate  proclaim. 
Nineveh,  Babylon,  and  ancient  Rome, 
Speak  to  the  present  time,  arid  times  to  come  j 
They  cry  aloud,  in  every  careless  ear, 
Stop,  while  ye  may  ;  suspend  your  mad  career 
O  learn  from  our  example  and  our  fate, 
Learn  wisdom  and  repentance  ere  too  late. 

Not  only  Vice  disposes  and  prepares 
The  mind,  that  slumbers  sweetly  in  her  snares 


TABLE   TALK.  21 

To  stoop  to  Tyranny's  usurped  command, 

And  bend  her  polished  neck  beneath  his  hand, 

(A  dire  effect,  by  one  of  Nature's  laws, 

Unchangeably  connected  with  its  cause  ;) 

But  Providence  himself  will  intervene, 

To  throw  his  dark  displeasure  o'er  the  scene. 

All  are  his  instruments ;  each  form  of  war, 

What  burns  at  home,  or  threatens  from  afar, 

Nature  in  arms,  her  elements  at  strife, 

The  storms  that  overset  the  joys  of  life, 

Are  but  the  rods  to  scourge  a  guilty  land, 

And  waste  it  at  the  bidding  of  his  hand. 

He  gives  his  word,  and  Mutiny  soon  roars 

In  all  her  gates,  and  shakes  her  distant  shores ; 

The  standards  of  all  nations  are  unfurled  ; 

She  has  one  foe,  and  that  one  foe  the  world  : 

And,  if  he  doom  that  people  with  a  frown, 

And  mark  them  with  a  seal  of  wrath  pressed  down, 

Obduracy  takes  place  ;  callous  and  tough, 

The  reprobated  race  grows  judgment-proof : 

Earth  shakes  beneath  them,  and  Heaven  roars  above ; 

But  nothing  scares  them  from  the  course  they  love. 

To  the  lascivious  pipe  and  wanton  song, 

That  charm  down  fear,  they  frolic  it  along, 

With  mad  rapidity  and  unconcern, 

Down  to  the  gulf,  from  which  is  no  return. 

They  trust  in  navies,  and  their  navies  fail — 

God's  curse  can  cast  away  ten  thousand  sail ! 

They  trust  in  armies,  and  their  courage  dies  ; 

In  wisdom,  wealth,  in  fortune,  and  in  lies  ; 

But  all  they  trust  in  withers,  as  it  must, 

When  He  commands,  in  whom  they  place  no  trust. 

Vengeance  at  last  pours  down  upon  their  coast 

A  long  despised,  but  now  victorious  host ; 

Tyranny  sends  the  chain  that  must  abridge 

The  noble  sweep  of  all  their  privilege  ; 

Owes  liberty  the  last,  the  mortal  shock ; 

Slips  the  slave's  collar  on,  and  snaps  the  lock. 


22  TABLE   TALK. 

A.  Such  lofty  strains  embellish  what  you  teach ; 
Mean  you  to  prophesy,  or  but  to  preach  ? 

B.  I  know  the  mind,  that  feels  indeed  the  fire 
The  muse  imparts,  and  can  command  the  lyre, 
Acts  with  a  force,  and  kindles  with  a  zeal, 
Whatever  the  theme,  that  others  never  feel. 

If  human  woes  her  soft  attention  claim, 

A  tender  sympathy  pervades  the  frame  ; 

She  pours  a  sensibility  divine 

Along  the  nerve  of  every  feeling  line. 

But  if  a  deed,  not  tamely  to  be  borne, 

Pire  indignation  and  a  sense  of  scorn, 

The  strings  are  swept  with  a  power  so  loud, 

The  storm  of  music  shakes  the  astonished  crowd. 

So,  when  remote  futurity  is  brought 

Before  the  keen  inquiry  of  her  thought, 

A  terrible  sagacity  informs 

The  poet's  heart ;  he  looks  to  distant  storms  ; 

He  hears  the  thunder  ere  the  tempest  lowers ; 

And,  armed  with  strength  surpassing  human  powers, 

Seizes  events  as  yet  unknown  to  man, 

And  darts  his  soul  into  the  dawning  plan. 

Hence,  in  a  Roman  mouth,  the  graceful  name 

Of  prophet  arid  of  poet  was  the  same  ; 

Hence  British  poets  too  the  priesthood  shared. 

And  every  hallowed  druid  was  a  bard. 

But  no  prophetic  fires  to  me  belong  ; 

I  play  with  syllables,  and  sport  in  song. 

A.  At  Westminster,  where  little  poets  strive 
To  set  a  distich  upon  six  and  five, 
Where  discipline  helps  th'  opening  buds  of  sense^ 
And  makes  his  pupils  proud  with  silver  pence, 
I  was  a  poet  too  ;  but  modern  taste 
Is  so  refined,  and  delicate,  and  chaste, 
That  verse,  whatever  fire  the  fancy  warms, 
Without  a  creamy  smoothness  has  no  charms. 
Thus,  all  success  depending  on  an  ear, 
And  thinking  I  might  purchase  it  too  dear, 


TABLE  TALK.  23 

If  sentiment  was  sacrificed  to  sound, 
Arid  truth  cut  short  to  make  a  period  round, 
I  judged  a  man  of  sense  could  scarce  do  worse, 
Than  caper  in  the  morris-dance  of  verse. 

8.  Thus  reputation  is  a  spur  to  wit, 
And  some  wits  flag  through  fear  of  losing  it 
Give  me  the  line  that  ploughs  its  stately  course 
Like  a  proud  swan,  conquering  the  stream  by  force, 
That,  like  some  cottage  beauty,  strikes  the  heart, 
Quite  nnindebted  to  the  tricks  of  art. 
When  Labour  and  when  Dulness,  club  in  hand, 
Like  the  two  figures  at  St.  Dunstan's  stand, 
Beating  alternately,  in  measured  time, 
The  clock-work  tintinabulum  of  rhyme, 
Exact  and  regular  the  sounds  will  be  ; 
But  such  mere  quarter-strokes  are  not  for  me. 

From  him,  who  rears  a  poem  lank  and  long, 
To  him  who  strains  his  all  into  a  song ; 
Perhaps  some  bonny  Caledonian  air, 
All  birks  and  braes,  though  he  was  never  there ; 
Or,  having  whelped  a  prologue  with  great  pains  ; 
Feels  himself  spent,  and  fumbles  for  his  brains ; 
A  prologue  interdashed  with  many  a  stroke — 
An  art  contrived  to  advertise  a  joke, 
So  that  the  jest  is  clearly  to  be  seen, 
Not  in  the  words — but  in  the  gap  between : 
Manner  is  all  in  all,  whate'er  is  writ, 
The  substitute  for  genius,  sense,  and  wit. 

To  dally  much  with  subjects  mean  and  low 
Proves  that  the  mind  is  weak,  or  makes  it  so. 
Neglected  talents  rush  into  decay, 
And  every  effort  ends  in  pushpin  play. 
The  man,  that  means  success,  should  soar  above 
A  soldier's  feather,  or  a  lady's  glove  ; 
Else,  summoning  the  muse  to  such  a  theme, 
The  fruit  of  all  her  labour  is  whipped  cream. 
As  if  an  eagle  flew  aloft,  and  then — 
Stooped  from  its  highest  pitch  to  pounce  a  wren* 


24  TABLE  TALK. 

As  if  the  poet,  purposing  to  wed, 
Should  carve  himself  a  wife  in  gingerbread, 
Ages  elapsed  ere  Homer's  lamp  appeared, 
And  ages  ere  the  Mantuan  swan  was  heard. 
To  carry  nature  lengths  unknown  before, 
To  give  a  Milton  birth,  asked  ages  more. 
Thus  Genius  rose  and  set  at  ordered  times, 
And  shot  a  dayspring  into  distant  climes, 
Ennobling  every  region  that  he  chose  ; 
He  sunk  in  Greece,  in  Italy  he  rose : 
And  tedious  years  of  Gothic  darkness  past, 
Emerged,  all  splendour,  in  our  isle  at  last. 
Thus  lovely  halcyons  dive  into  the  main, 
Then  show  far  off  their  shining  plumes  again. 

A.  Is  genius  only  found  in  epic  lays  ? 
Prove  this,  and  forfeit  all  pretence  to  praise. 
Make  their  heroic  powers  your  own  at  once, 
Or  candidly  confess  yourself  a  dunce. 

B.  These  were  the  chief:  each  interval  of  ni&ht 
Was  graced  with  many  an  undulating  light. 

In  less  illustrious  bards  his  beauty  shone 
A  meteor,  or  a  star  ;  in  these  the  sun. 

The  nightingale  may  claim  the  topmost  bough, 
While  the  poor  grasshopper  must  chirp  below. 
Like  him  unnoticed,  I  and  such  as  I, 
Spread  little  wings,  and  rather  skip  than  fly ; 
Perched  on  the  meager  produce  of  the  land, 
An  ell  or  two  of  prospect  we  command ; 
But  never  peep  beyond  the  thorny  bound 
Or  oaken  fence,  that  hems  the  paddock  round. 

In  Eden,  ere  yet  innocence  of  heart 
Had  faded,  poetry  was  not  an  art : 
Language,  above  all  teaching,  or,  if  taught, 
Only  by  gratitude  and  glowing  thought, 
Elegant  as  simplicity,  and  warm 
As  ecstasy,  unmanacled  by  form  ; 
Not  prompted,  as  in  our  degenerate  days, 
By  low  ambition  and  the  thirst  of  praise ; 


TABLE    TALK.  25 

Was  natural  as  is  the  flowing  stream, 
And  yet  magnificent.     A  God  the  theme  ! 
That  theme  on  earth  exhausted,  though  above 
'Tis  found  as  everlasting  as  his  love. 
Man  lavished  all  his  thoughts  on  human  things— 
The  feats  of  heroes,  and  the  wrath  of  kings  ; 
But  still,  while  Virtue  kindled  his  delight, 
The  song  was  moral,  and  so  far  was  right. 
'Twas  thus,  till  Luxury  seduced  the  mind 
To  joys  less  innocent,  as  less  refined  ; 
Then  genius  danced  a  bacchanal ;  he  crowned 
The  brimming  goblet,  seized  the  thyrsus,  bound 
His  brows  with  ivy,  rushed  into  the  field 
Of  wild  imagination,  and  there  reeled, 
The  victim  of  his  own  lascivious  fires, 
And  dizzy  with  delight,  profaned  the  sacred  wires. 
Anacreon,  Horace  played  in  Greece  and  Rome 
This  bedlam  part ;  and  others  nearer  home. 
When  Cromwell  fought  for  power,  and  while  he  reigned 
The  proud  protector  of  the  power  he  gained, 
Religion,  harsh,  intolerant,  austere, 
Parent  of  manners  like  herself  severe, 
Drew  a  rough  copy  of  the  Christian  face, 
Without  the  smile,  the  sweetness,  or  the  grace ; 
The  dark  and  sullen  humour  of  the  time 
Judged  every  effort  of  the  muse  a  crime ; 
Verse,  in  the  finest  mould  of  fancy  cast, 
Was  lumber  in  an  age  so  void  of  taste  : 
But  when  the  Second  Charles  assumed  the  sway, 
And  arts  revived  beneath  a  softer  day ; 
Then,  like  a  bow  long  forced  into  a  curve, 
The  mind,  released  from  too  constrained  a  nerve, 
Flew  to  its  first  position  with  a  spring. 
That  made  the  vaulted  roofs  of  pleasure  ring. 
His  court,  the  dissolute  and  hateful  school 
Of  Wantonness,  where  vice  was  taught  by  rule, 
Swarmed  with  a  scribbling  herd,  as  deep  inlaid 
With  brutal  lust  as  ever  Circe  made. 

3 


26  TABLE    TALK. 

From  these  a  long  succession,  in  the  rage 
Of  rank  obscenity,  debauched  their  age  ; 
Nor  ceased,  till,  ever  anxious  to  redress 
The  abuses  of  her  sacred  charge,  the  press, 
The  muse  instructed  a  well-nurtured  train 
Of  abler  votaries  to  cleanse  the  stain, 
And  claim  the  palm  for  purity  of  song, 
That  Lewdness  had  usurped  and  worn  so  long. 
Then  decent  Pleasantry  and  sterling  Sense, 
That  neither  gave,  nor  would  endure  oifence, 
Whipped  out  of  sight,  with  satire  just  and  keen, 
The  puppy  pack,  that  had  defiled  the  scene. 

In  front  of  these  came  Addison.     In  him 
Humour  in  holiday  and  sightly  trim, 
Sublimity  and  Attic  taste  combined, 
To  polish,  furnish,  and  delight  the  mind. 
Then  Pope,  as  harmony  itself  exact, 
In  verse  well  disciplined,  complete,  compact, 
Gave  virtue  and  morality  a  grace, 
That,  quite  eclipsing  Pleasure's  painted  face, 
Levied  a  tax  of  wonder  and  applause, 
Even  on  the  fools  that  trampled  on  their  laws 
But  he  (his  musical  finesse  was  such, 
So  nice  his  ear,  so  delicate  his  touch) 
Made  poetry  a  mere  mechanic  art ; 
And  every  warbler  has  his  tune  by  heart. 
Nature  imparting  her  satiric  gift, 
Her  serious  mirth,  to  Arbuthnot  and  Swift, 
With  droll  sobriety  they  raised  a  smile 
At  folly's  cost,  themselves  unmoved  the  while, 
That  constellation  set,  the  world  in  vain 
Must  hope  to  look  upon  their  like  again. 

A.  Are  we  then  left — B.  Not  wholly  in  the  dark  ; 
Wit  now  and  then,  struck  smartly,  shows  a  spark, 
Sufficient  to  redeem  the  modern  race 
From  total  night  and  absolute  disgrace. 
While  servile  trick  arid  imitative  knack 
Confine  the  million  in  the  beaten  track, 


TABLE   TALK.  27 

Perhaps  some  courser,  who  disdains  the  road, 
Snuffs  up  the  wind,  and  flings  himself  abroad. 

Contemporaries  all  surpassed,  see  one  ; 
Short  his  career  indeed,  but  ably  run ; 
Churchill,  himself  unconscious  of  his  powers, 
In  penury  consumed  his  idle  hours  ; 
And,  like  a  scattered  seed  at  random  sown, 
Was  left  to  spring  by  vigour  of  his  own. 
Lifted  at  length,  by  dignity  of  thought 
And  dint  of  genius,  to  an  affluent  lot, 
He  laid  his  head  in  Luxury's  soft  lap, 
And  took,  too  often,  there  his  easy  nap. 
If  brighter  beams  than  all  he  threw  riot  forth, 
'Twas  negligence  in  him,  not  want  of  worth. 
Surly,  and  slovenly,  and  bold,  and  coarse, 
Too  proud  for  art,  and  trusting  in  mere  force, 
Spendthrift  alike  of  money  and  of  wit, 
Always  at  speed,  and  never  drawing  bit, 
He  struck  the  lyre  in  such  a  careless  mood, 
And  so  disdained  the  rules  he  understood, 
The  laurel  seemed  to  wait  on  his  command, 
He  snatched  it  rudely  from  the  Muses'  hand. 
Nature  exerting  an  unwearied  power, 
Forms,  opens,  and  gives  scent  to  every  flower  ; 
Spreads  the  fresh  verdure  of  the  fields,  and  leads 
The  dancing  Naiads  through  the  dewy  meads  : 
She  fills  profuse  ten  thousand  little  throats 
With  music,  modulating  all  their  notes  ; 
And  charms  the  woodland  scenes,  and  wilds  unknown, 
With  artless  airs  and  concerts  of  her  own  ; 
But  seldom  (as  if  fearful  of  expense) 
Vouchsafes  to  man  a  poet's  just  pretence — - 
Fervency,  freedom,  fluency  of  thought, 
Harmony,  strength,  words  exquisitely  sought ; 
Fancy,  that,  from  the  bow  that  spans  the  sky, 
Brings  colours,  dipped  in  Heaven,  that  never  die  ; 
A  soul  exalted  above  Earth,  a  mind 
Skilled  in  the  characters  that  form  mankind ; 


28  TABLE   TALK. 

And,  as  the  Sun  in  rising  beauty  drest, 

Looks  to  the  westward  from  the  dappled  east, 

And  marks  whatever  clouds  may  interpose, 

Ere  yet  his  race  begins,  its  glorious  close  ; 

An  eye  like  his  to  catch  the^distant  goal ; 

Or,  ere  the  wheels  of  verse  begin  to  roll, 

Like  his  to  shed  illuminating  rays 

On  every  scene  and  subject  it  surveys  : 

Thus  graced,  the  man  asserts  a  poet's  name, 

Arid  the  world  cheerfully  admits  the  claim. 

Pity  Religion  has  so  seldom  found 

A  skilful  guide  into  poetic  ground  ! 

The  flowers  would  spring  where'er  she  deigned  to 

stray, 

And  every  muse  attend  her  in  her  way. 
Virtue  indeed  meets  many  a  rhyming  friend, 
And  many  a  compliment  politely  penned ; 
But  un attired  in  that  becoming  vest 
Religion  weaves  for  her,  and  half  undrest, 
Stands  in  the  desert,  shivering  and  forlorn, 
A  wintry  figure, like  a  withered  thorn. 
The  shelves  are  full,  all  other  themes  are  sped ; 
Hackneyed  and  worn  to  the  last  flimsy  thread, 
Satire  has  long  since  done  his  best ;  and  curst 
And  loathsome  Ribaldry  has  done  his  worst ; 
Fancy  has  sported  all  her  powers  away 
In  tales,  in  trifles,  and  in  children's  play  ; 
And  'tis  the  sad  complain,!,  and  almost  true, 
Whate'er  -we  write,  we  bring  forth  nothing  new. 
'Twere  new  indeed  to  see  a  bard  all  fire, 
Touched  with  a  coal  from  Heaven,  assume  the  lyre 
And  tell  the  world,  still  kindling  as  he  sung, 
With  more  than  mortal  music  on  his  tongue, 
That  He,  who  died  below,  and  reigns  above, 
Inspires  the  song,  and  that  his  name  is  Love. 

For,  after  all,  if  merely  to  beguile, 
By  flowing  numbers  and  a  flowery  style, 
The  taedium  that  the  lazy  rich  endure. 


TABLE  TALK.  20 

Which  now  and  then  sweet  poetry  may  cure ; 

Or,  if  to  see  the  name  of  idle  self, 

Stamped  on  the  well-bound  quarto,  grace  the  shel£ 

To  float  a  bubble  on  the  breath  of  Fame, 

Prompt  his  endeavour  and  engage  his  aim, 

Debased  to  servile  purposes  of  pride, 

How  are  the  powers  of  genius  misapplied  ! 

The  gift,  whose  office  is  the  Giver's  praise, 

To  trace  him  in  his  word,  his  works,  his  ways ! 

Then  spread  the  rich  discovery,  and  invite 

Mankind  to  share  in  the  divine  delight ; 

Distorted  from  its  use  and  just  design, 

To  make  the  pitiful  possessor  shine, 

To  purchase,  at  the  fool-frequented  fair 

Of  vanity,  a  wreath  for  self  to  wear, 

Is  profanation  of  the  basest  kind — 

Proof  of  a  trifling  and  a  worthless  mind, 

A.  Hail,  Sternhold,  then  !  and  Hopkins,  hail ! 

B.  Amen. 

If  flattery,  folly,  lust,  employ  the  pen  ; 

If  acrimony,  slander,  and  abuse, 

Give  it  a  charge  to  blacken  and  traduce  ; 

Though  Butler's  wit,  Pope's  numbers,  Prior's  ease, 

With  all  that  fancy  can  invent  to  please, 

Adorn  the  polished  periods  as  they  fall, 

One  madrigal  of  theirs  is  worth  them  all. 

A.  'T would  thin  the  ranks  of  the  poetic  tribe, 
To  dash  the  pen  through  all  that  you  proscribe. 

B.  No  matter — we  could  shift  when  they  were 
not; 

And  should,  no  doubt,  if  they  were  all  forgot. 

3* 


SO  THE   PROGRESS   OF  ERROR. 

THE    PROGRESS    OF    ERROR. 

Si  quid  loquar  audiendum.     HOT.  Lib.  iv.  Od.  2. 

SING,  muse,  (if  such  a  theme,  so  dark,  so  long, 
-May  find  a  muse  to  grace  it  with  a  song,) 
By  what  unseen  and  unsuspected  arts 
The  serpent  Error  twines  round  human  hearts  ; 
Tell  where  she  lurks,  beneath  what  flowery  shades, 
That  not  a  glimpse  of  genuine  light  pervades, 
The  poisonous,  black,  insinuating  worm 
Successfully  conceals  her  loathsome  form. 
Take,  if  ye  can,  ye  careless  and  supine, 
Counsel  and  caution  from  a  voice  like  mine ! 
Truths,  that  the  theorist  could  never  reach, 
And  observation  taught  me,  I  would  teach. 

Not  all,  whose  eloquence  the  fancy  fills, 
Musical  as  the  chime  of  tinkling  rills, 
Weak  to  perform,  though  mighty  to  preteinl, 
Can  trace  her  mazy  windings  to  their  end , 
Discern  the  fraud  beneath  the  specious  lure. 
Prevent  the  danger,  or  prescribe  the  cure. 
The  clear  harangue,  and  cold  as  it  is  clear, 
Falls  soporific  on  the  listless  ear  ; 
Like  quicksilver,  the  rhetoric  they  display, 
Shines  as  it  runs,  but  grasped  at  slips  away . 

Placed  for  his  trial  on  this  bustling  stage, 
From  thoughtless  youth  to  ruminating  age, 
Free  in  his  will  to  choose  or  to  refuse, 
Man  may  improve  the  crisis,  or  abuse ; 
Else  on  the  fatalist's  unrighteous  plan, 
Say  to  what  bar  amenable  were  man  ? 
With  naught  in  charge,  he  could  betray  no  tiUM 
And,  if  he  fell,  would  fall  because  he  must; 
If  Love  reward  him,  or  if  Vengeance  strike, 
His  recompense  in  both  unjust  alike. 
Divine  authority  within  his  breast 
Brings  every  thought,  word,  action,  to  the  test ; 


THE  PROGRESS   OF   ERROR,  31 

Warns  him  or  prompts,  approves  him  or  restrains, 
As  Reason,  or  as  Passion,  takes  the  reins. 
Heaven  from  above,  and  Conscience  from  within, 
Cries  in  his  startled  ear — Abstain  from  sin  ! 
The  world  around  solicits  his  desire, 
And  kindles  in  his  soul  a  treacherous  fire, 
While,  ail  his  purposes  and  steps  to  guard, 
Peace  follows  Virtue  as  its  sure  reward ; 
And  pleasure  brings  as  surely  in  her  train 
Remorse,  and  Sorrow,  and  vindictive  Pain. 

Man,  thus  endued  with  an  elective  voice, 
Must  be  supplied  with  objects  of  his  choice ; 
Where'er  he  turns,  enjoyment  and  delight, 
Or  present,  or  in  prospect  meet  his  sight ; 
Those  open  on  the*  spot  their  honeyed  store, 
These  call  him  loudly  to  pursuit  of  more. 
His  unexhausted  mind  the  sordid  vice 
Avarice  shows,  and  virtue  is  the  price. 
Her  various  motives  his  ambition  raise — 
Power,  pomp,  and  splendour,  and  the  thirst  of  praise  j 
There  beauty  woos  him  with  expanded  arms; 
E'en  Bacchanalian  madness  has  its  charms. 

Nor  these  alone,  whose  pleasures  less  refined, 
Might  well  alarm  the  most  unguarded  mind, 
Seek  to  supplant  his  inexperienced  youth, 
Or  lead  him  devious  from  the  path  of  truth ; 
Hourly  allurements  on  his  passions  press, 
Safe  in  themselves,  but  dangerous  in  thj  excess. 

Hark  !  how  it  floats  upon  the  dewy  air ! 
O  what  a  dying,  dying  close  was  there  ! 
'Tis  harmony  from  yon  sequestered  bower, 
Sweet  harmony  that  soothes  the  midnight  hour  ! 
Long  ere  the  charioteer  of  .day  had  run 
His  morning  course,  th'  enchantment  was  begun  ; 
And  he  shall  gild  yon  mountain's  height  again, 
Ere  yet  the  pleasing  toil  becomes  a  pain. 

Is  this  the  rugged  path,  the  steep  ascent, 
That  Virtue  points  to?     Can  a  life  thus  spent 


32  THE  PROGRESS    OF  ERROR. 

Lead  to  the  bliss  she  promises  the  wise, 

Detach  the  soul  from  earth,  and  speed  her  to  the  skies  ? 

Ye  devotees  to  your  adored  employ, 

Enthusiasts,  drunk  with  an  unreal  joy, 

Love  makes  the  music  of  the  blest  above, 

Heaven's  harmony  is  universal  love  : 

And  earthly  sounds,  thoV  sweet  and  well  combined, 

And  lenient  as  soft  opiates  to  the  mind, 

Leave  Vice  and  Folly  unsubdued  behind. 

Gray  dawn  appears  ;  the  sportsman  and  his  train 
Speckle  the  bosom  of  the  distant  plain ; 
'Tis  he,  the  Nimrod  of  the  neighbouring  lairs ; 
Save  that  his  scent  is  less  acute  than  theirs ; 
For  persevering  chase,  and  headlong  leaps, 
True  beagle  as  the  stanchest  hound  he  keeps. 
Charged  with  the  folly  of  his  life's  mad  scene, 
He  takes  offence,  and  wonders  what  you  mean; 
The  joy,  the  danger,  and  the  toil  overpays — 
7Tis  exercise,  and  health,  and  length  of  days. 
Again  impetuous  to  the  field  he  flies; 
Leaps  every  fence  but  one,  there  falls  and  dies ; 
Like  a  slain  deer,  the  tumbrel  brings  him  home, 
Unmissed  but  by  his  dogs  and  by  his  groom. 

Ye  clergy,  while  your  orbit  is  your  place, 
Lights  of  the  world,  and  stars  of  human  race  j 
But  if  eccentric  ye  forsake  your  sphere, 
Prodigies  ominous,  and  viewed  with  fear ; 
The  comet's  baneful  influence  is  a  dream ; 
Yours,  real  and  pernicious  in  th'  extreme. 
What  then  ! — are  appetites  and  lusts  laid  down, 
With  the  same  ease  that  man  puts  on  his  gown  ? 
Will  Avarice  and  concupiscence  give  place, 
Charmed  by  the  sounds — Your  Reverence,  or  Your 

Grace  ? 

No.     But  his  own  engagement  binds  him  fast ; 
Or,  if  it  does  not,  brands  him  to  the  last, 
What  atheists  call  him — a  designing  knave, 
A  mere  church  juggler,  hypocrite,  and  slave. 


THE   PROGRESS   OF  ERROR.  33 

Oh,  laugh  or  mourn  with  me  the  rueful  jest, 
A  cassocked  huntsman,  and  a  fiddling  priest ! 
He  from  Italian  songsters  takes  his  cue : 
•et  Paul  to  music,  he  shall  quote  him  too. 
He  taKes  the  field,  the  master  of  the  pack 

ries — Well  done,  saint !  arid  claps  him  on  the  back. 
ts  this  the  path  of  sanctity  ?  Is  this 
To  stand  a  waymark  in  the  road  to  bliss  ? 
Himself  a  wanderer  from  the  narrow  way, 
His  silly  sheep,  what  wonder  if  they  stray  ? 
Go,  cast  your  orders  at  your  bishop's  feet, 
Send  your  dishonoured  gown  to  Monmouth-street ! 
The  sacred  function  in  your  hands  is  made — 
Sad  privilege  !  no  function,  but  a  trade  ! 

Occidus  is  a  pastor^of  renown, 
When  he  has  prayed  and  preached  the  sabbath  down, 
With  wire  and  catgut  he  concludes  the  day, 
Quavering  and  semiquavering  care  away, 
The  full  concerto  swells  upon  your  ear ; 
All  elbows  shake.     Look  in,  and  you  would  swear 
The  Babylonian  tyrant  with  a  nod 
Had  summoned  them  to  serve  his  golden  god. 
So  well  that  thought  th'  employment  seems  to  suit, 
Psaltery  and  sackbut,  dulcimer  and  flute. 
O  fie  !  'tis  evangelical  and  pure : 
Observe  each  face,  how  sober  and  denture ! 
Ecstasy  sets  her  stamp  on  every  mien  ; 
Chins  fallen,  and  not  an  eyeball  to  be  seen. 
Still  I  insist,  though  music  heretofore 
Haa  charmed  me  much,  (not  e'en  Occidus  more,) 
Love,  joy,  and  peace,  make  harmony  more  meet 
For  sabbath  evenings,  and  perhaps  as  sweet 

Will  not  the  sickliest  sheep  of  every  flock 
Resort  to  this  example  as  a  rock  ; 
There  stand,  and  justify  the  foul  abuse 
Of  sabbath-hours  with  plausible  excuse  ? 
If  apostolic  gravity  be  free 
To  play  the  fool  on  Sundays,  why  not  we? 


34  THE  PROGRESS   OF   ERROR. 

If  he  the  tinkling  harpsichord  regards 
As  inoffensive,  what  offence  in  cards  ? 
Strike  up  the  fiddles,  let  us  all  be  gay, 
Laymen  have  leave  to  dance,  if  parsons  play. 

Oh  Italy  ! — Thy  sabbaths  will  be  soon 
Our  sabbaths,  closed  with  mummery  and  buffoon. 
Preaching  and  pranks  will  share  the  motley  scene, 
Ours  parcelled  out,  as  thine  have  ever  been, 
God's  worship  and  the  mountebank  between. 
What  says  the  prophet?     Let  that  day  be  blessed 
With  holiness  and  consecrated  rest. 
Pastime  and  business  both  it  should  exclude, 
And  bar  the  door  the  moment  they  intrude : 
Nobly  distinguished  above  all  the  six 
By  deeds,  in  which  the  world  must  never  mix. 
Hear  him  again.     He  calls  it  a  delight, 
A  day  of  luxury  observed  aright, 
When  the  glad  soul  is  made  Heaven's  welcome  guest, 
Sits  banqueting,  and  God  provides  the  feast. 
But  triflers  are  engaged  and  cannot  come  ; 
Their  answer  to  the  call  is — Not  at  home. 

O  the  dear  pleasures  of  the  velvet  plain, 
The  painted  tablets,  dealt  and  dealt  again  ! 
Cards  with  what  rapture,  and  the  polished  die, 
The  yawning  chasm  of  indolence  supply ! 
Then  to  the  dance,  and  make  the  sober  moon 
Witness  of  joys  that  shun  the  sight  of  noon. 
Blame,  cynic,  if  you  can,  quadrille  or  ball, 
The  snug  close  party,  or  the  splendid  hall, 
Where  night,  down-stooping  from  her  ebon  throne, 
Views  constellations  brighter  than  her  own. 
'Tis  innocent,  arid  harmless,  and  refined, 
The  balm  of  care,  Elysium  of  the  mind. 
Innocent !  Oh,  if  venerable  Time 
Slain  at  the  foot  of  Pleasure  be  no  crime, 
Then,  with  his  silver  beard  and  magic  wand, 
Let  Comus  rise  archbishop  of  the  land ; 
Let  him  your  rubric  and  your  feasts  prescribe, 


THE    PROGRESS    OF   ERROR.  35 

Grand  metropolitan  of  all  the  tribe. 

Of  manners  rough,  and  coarse  athletic  cast, 
The  rank  debauch  suits  Clodio's  filthy  taste. 
Rufillus,  exquisitely  formed  by  rule, 
Not  of  the  moral  but  the  dancing  school, 
Wonders  at  Clodio's  follies,  in  a  tone 
As  tragical,  as  others  at  his  own. 
He  cannot  drink  five  bottles,  bilk  the  score, 
Then  kill  a  constable,  and  drink  five  more; 
But  he  can  draw  a  pattern,  make  a  tart, 
And  has  the  ladies'  etiquette  by  heart. 
Go,  fool ;  and,  arm  in  arm  with  Clodio,  p^ead 
Your  cause  before  a  bar  you  little  dread  ; 
But  know,  the  law  that  bids  the  drunkard  die, 
Is  far  too  just  to  pass  the  trifler  by. 
Both  baby-featured,  and  of  infant  size, 
Viewed  from  a  distance,  and  with  heedless  eyes, 
Folly  and  Innocence  are  so  alike, 
The  difference,  though  essential,  fails  to  strike. 
Yet  Folly  ever  has  a  vacant  stare, 
A  simpering  countenance,  and  a  trifling  air  ; 
But  Innocence,  sedate,  serene,  erect, 
Delights  us,  by  engaging  our  respect. 
Man,  Nature's  guest  by  invitation  sweet, 
Receives  from  her  both  appetite  and  treat ; 
But,  if  he  play  the  glutton  and  exceed, 
His  benefactress  blushes  at  the  deed ; 
For  Nature,  nice,  as  liberal  to  dispense, 
Made  nothing  but  a  brute  the  slave  of  sense. 
Daniel  ate  pulse  by  choice — example  rare  ! 
Heaven  bless'd  the  youth,  and  made  him  fresh  and  fair, 
Gorgonius  sits,  abdominous  and  wan, 
Like  a  fat  squab  upon  a  Chinese  fan  : 
He  snuffs  far  off  the  anticipated  joy ; 
Turtle  and  ven'son  all  his  thoughts  employ ; 
Prepares  for  meals  as  jockeys  take  a  sweat, 
Oh  nauseous  ! — an  emetic  for  a  whet ! 
Will  Providence  o'erloqk  the  wasted  good  1 


30  THE    PROGRESS    OF    ERROR. 

Temperance  were  no  virtue  if  h^  could. 

That  pleasures,  therefore,  or  what  such  we  call, 
Are  hurtful,  is  a  truth  confessed  by  all ; 
And  some,  that  seem  to  threaten  virtue  less, 
Still  hurtful  in  th7  abuse,  or  by  th'  excess. 

Is  man  then  only  for  his  torment  placed 
The  centre  of  delights  he  may  not  taste  ; 
Like  fabled  Tantalus,  condemned  to  hear 
The  precious  stream  still  purling  in  his  ear, 
Lip-deep  in  what  he  longs  for,  and  yet  curst 
With  prohibition,  and  perpetual  thirst? 
No,  wrangler — destitute  of  shame  and  sense 
The  precept,  that  enjoins  him  abstinence, 
Forbids  him  none  but  the  licentious  joy, 
Whose  fruit,  though  fair,  tempts  only  to  destroy. 
Remorse,  the  fatal  egg  by  Pleasure  laid 
In  every  bosom  where  her  nest  is  made, 
Hatched  by  the  beams  of  Truth,  denies  him  rest, 
And  pro  res  a  raging  scorpion  in  his  breast. 
No  pleasure  ?     Are  domestic  comforts  dead  ? 
Are  all  the  nameless  sweets  of  friendship  fled ; 
Has  time  worn  out,  or  fashion  put  to  shame, 
Good  sense,  good  health,  good  conscience,  and  good 

fame  ? 

All  these  belong  to  virtue,  and  all  prove, 
That  virtue  has  a  title  to  your  love. 
Have  you  no  touch  of  pity,  that  the  poor 
Stand  starved  at  your  inhospitable  door  1 
Or  if  yourself  too  scantily  supplied 
Need  help,  let  honest  industry  provide. 
Earn,  if  you  want ;  if  you  abound,  impart : 
These  both  are  pleasures  to  the  feeling  heart. 
No  pleasure  ?     Has  some  sickly  eastern  waste 
Sent  us  a  wind  to  parch  us  at  «  blast  ? 
Can  British  Paradise  no  scenes  afford 
To  please  her  sated  and  indifferent  lord? 
Are  sweet  philosophy's  enjoyments  run 
Quite  to  the  lees?     And  has  religion  none? 


THE    PROGRESS  OF    ERROR.  37 

Brutes  capable  would  tell  you  'tis  a  lie, 
And  judge  you  from  the  kennel  and  the  sty. 
Delights  like  these,  ye  sensual  and  profane, 
Ye  are  bid,  begged,  besought  to  entertain  ; 
Called  to  these  crystal  streams,  do  ye  turn  off 
Obscene  to  swill  and  swallow  at  a  trough  ? 
Envy  the  beast  then,  on  whom  Heaven  bestows 
Your  pleasures  with  no  curses  in  the  close. 

Pleasure  admitted  in  undue  degree 
Enslaves  the  will,  nor  leaves  the  judgment  free. 
'Tis  not  alone  the  grape's  enticing  juice 
Unnerves  the  moral  powers,  and  mars  their  use  , 
Ambition,  avarice,  and  the  lust  of  fame, 
And  woman,  lovely  woman,  does  the  same. 
The  heart,  surrendered  to  the  ruling  power 
Of  some  ungoverned  passion  every  hour, 
Fkids  by  degrees  the  truths,  that  once  bore  sway, 
And  all  their  deep  impressions,  wear  away ; 
So  coin  grows  smooth,  in  traffic  current  passed, 
Till  Caesar's  image  is  effaced  at  last. 

The  breach,  tho'  small  at  first,  soon  opening  wide* 
In  rushes  folly  with  a  full-moon  tide, 
Then  welcome  errors  of  whatever  size, 
To  justify  it  by  a  thousand  lies. 
As  creeping  ivy  clings  to  wood  or  stone, 
And  hides  the  ruin  that  it  feeds  upon. 
So  sophistry  cleaves  close  to  and  protects 
Sin's  rotten  trunk,  concealing  its  defects. 
Mortals,  whose  pleasures  are  their  only  care, 
First  wish  to  be  imposed  on,  and  then  are. 
And,  lest  the  fulsome  artifice  should  fail, 
Themselves  will  hide  its  coarseness  with  a  veil. 
Not  more  industrious  are  the  just  and  true, 
To  give  to  Virtue  what  is  Virtue's  due — 
The  praise  of  wisdom,  comeliness,  arid  worth, 
And  call  her  charms  to  public  notice  forth — 
Than  Vice's  mean  and  cl  singenuous  race, 
To  hide  the  shocking  features  of  her  face. 

4 


f8  THE   PROGRESS    OF   ERROR 

Her  form  with  dress  and  lotion  they  repair  ; 
Then  kiss  their  idol,  and  pronounce  her  fair. 

The  sacred  implement  I  now  employ 
Might  prove  a  mischief  or  at  best  a  toy  ; 
A  trifle,  if  it  move  but  to  amuse ; 
But,  if  to  wrong  the  judgment  and  abuse, 
Worse  than  the  poniard  in  the  basest  hand, 
It  stabs  at  once  the  morals  of  a  land. 

Ye  writers  of  what  none  with  safety  reads, 
Footing  it  in  the  dance  that  Fancy  leads ; 
Ye  novelists,  who  mar  what  ye  would  mend, 
Snivelling  and  drivelling  folly  without  end ; 
Whose  corresponding  misses  fill  the  ream, 
With  sentimental  frippery  and  dream, 
Caught  in  a  delicate  soft  silken  net 
By  some  lewd  earl,  or  rakehell  baronet : 
Ye  pimps,  who,  under  virtue's  fair  pretence, 
Steal  to  the  closet  of  young  innocence, 
And  teach  her,  unexperienced  yet  and  green, 
To  scribble  as  you  scribbled  at  fifteen  ; 
Who  kindling  a  combustion  of  desire, 
With  some  cold  moral  think  to  quench  the  fire ; 
Though  all  your  engineering  proves  in  vain, 
The  dribbling  stream  ne'er  puts  it  out  again  : 
O  that  a  verse  had  power,  and  could  command 
Far,  far  away  these  flesh  flies  of  the  land  ; 
Who  fasten  without  mercy  on  the  fair, 
And  suck,  and  leave  a  craving  maggot  there  ! 
Howe'er  disguised  the  inflammatory  tale, 
And  covered  with  a  fine-spun  specious  veil ; 
Such  writers,  and  such  readers,  owe  the  gust 
And  relish  of  their  pleasure  all  to  lust. 

But  the  muse,  eagle-pinioned,  has  in  view 
A  quarry  more  important  still  than  you ; 
Down,  down  the  wind  she  swims,  and  sails  away, 
Now  sttfops  upon  it,  and  now  grasps  the  prey. 

Petronius  !  all  the  muses  weep  for  thee ; 
But  every  tear  shin  scald  thy  memory  : 


THE  PROGRESS   OP  ERROR.  39 

The  graces  too,  while  Virtue  at  their  shrine 
Lay  bleeding  under  that  soft  hand  of  thine, 
Felt  each  a  mortal  stab  in  her  own  breast, 
Abhorred  the  sacrifice,  and  cursed  the  priest. 
Thou  polished  and  high-finished  foe  to  truth, 
Gray  beard  corrupter  of  our  listening  youth, 
To  purge  and  skim  away  the  filth  of  vice, 
That  so  refined  it  might  the  more  entice, 
Then  pour  it  on  the  morals  of  thy  son  ; 
To  taint  his  heart,  was  worthy  of  thine  own  ! 
Now,  while  the  poison  all  high  life  pervades, 
Write,  if  thou  canst,  one  letter  from  the  shades ; 
One,  and  one  only,  charged  with  deep  regret, 
That  thy  worse  part,  thy  principles,  live  yet : 
One  sad  epistle  thence  may  cure  mankind 
Of  the  plague  spread  by  bundles  left  behind. 

?Tis  granted,  and  no  plainer  truth  appears, 
Our  most  important  are  our  earliest  years ; 
The  mind,  impressible  and  soft,  with  ease 
Imbibes  and  copies  what  she  hears  and  sees, 
And  through  life's  labyrinth  holds  fast  the  clew 
That  Education  gives  her,  false  or  true. 
Plants  raised  with  tenderness  are  seldom  strong ; 
Man's  coltish  disposition  asks  the  thong  ; 
And  without  discipline,  the  favourite  child, 
Like  a  neglected  forester,  runs  wild. 
But  we,  as  if  good  qualities  would  grow 
Spontaneous,  take  but  little  pains  to  sow  ; 
We  give  some  Latin,  and  a  smatch  of  Greek  ; 
Teach  him  to  fence  and  figure  twice  a  week  ; 
And  having  done,  we  think,  the  best  we  can, 
Praise  his  proficiency,  and  dub  him  man. 

From  school  to  Cam  or  Isis,  and  thence  home ; 
And  thence  with  all  convenient  speed  to  Rome, 
With  reverend  tutor  clad  in  habit  lay, 
To  tease  for  cash,  and  quarrel  with  all  day ; 
With  memorandum-book  for  every  town. 
And  every  post,  and  where  the  chaise  h   «ke  down 


40  THE    PROGRESS    OF   ERROR. 

His  stock,  a  few  French  phrases  got  by  heart, 
With  much  to  learn,  but  nothing  to  impart ; 
The  youth  obedient  to  his  sire's  commands, 
Sets  off  a  wanderer  into  foreign  lands. 
Surprised  at  all  they  meet,  the  gosling  pair, 
With  awkward  gait,  stretched  neck,  and  silly  stare, 
Discover  huge  cathedrals  built  with  stone, 
And  steeples  towering  high  much  like  our  own  ; 
But  show  peculiar  light  by  many  a  grin, 
At  popish  practices  observed  within. 

Ere  long,  some  bowing,  smirking,  smart  abbe 
Remarks  two  loiterers  that  have  lost  their  way ; 
And  being  always  primed  with  politesse 
For  men  of  their  appearance  and  address, 
With  much  compassion  undertakes  the  task, 
To  tell  them  more  than  they  have  wit  to  ask ; 
Points  to  inscriptions  wheresoe'er  they  tread, 
Such  as,  when  legible,  were  never  read, 
But,  being  cankered  now  and  half  worn  out, 
Craze  antiquarian  brains  with  endless  doubt ; 
Some  headless  hero,  or  some  Caesar  shows — 
Defective  only  in  his  Roman  nose  ; 
Exhibits  elevations,  drawings,  plans, 
Models  of  Herculanean  pots  and  pans ; 
And  sells  them  medals,  which,  if  neither  rare 
Nor  ancient,  will  be  so,  preserved  with  care. 

Strange  the  recital !  from  whatever  cause 
His  great  improvement  and  new  light  he  draws, 
The  squire,  once  bashful,  is  shamefaced  no  more, 
But  teems  with  powers  he  never  felt  before  : 
Whether  increased  momentum,  and  the  force. 
With  which  from  clime  to  clime  he  sped  his  course, 
(As  axles  sometimes  kindle  as  they  go) 
Chafed  him,  and  brought  dull  nature  to  a  glow  ; 
Or  whether  clearer  skies  and  softer  air, 
That  make  Italian  flowers  so  sweet  and  fair, 
Freshening  his  lazy  spirits  as  he  ran, 
Unfolded  genially  and  spread  the  man ; 


THE  PROGRESS    OF    ERROR.  4J 

Returning  he  proclaims  by  many  a  grace, 
By  shrugs  and  strange  contortions  of  his  face, 
How  much  a  dtince,  that  has  been  sent  to  roam 
Excels  a  dunce,  that  has  been  kept  at  home. 
Accomplishments  have  taken  virtue's  place, 
And  wisdom  falls  before  exterior  grace : 
We  slight  the  precious  kernel  of  the  stone, 
And  toil  to  polish  its  rough  coat  alone. 
A  just  deportment,  manners  graced  with  ease, 
Elegant  phrase,  and  figure  formed  to  please, 
Are  qualities,  that  seem  to  comprehend 
Whatever  parents,  guardians,  schools  intend  ; 
Hence  an  unfurnished  and  a  listless  mind, 
Though  busy,  trifling ;  empty,  though  refined ; 
Hence  all  that  interferes,  and  dares  to  clash 
With  indolence  and  luxury,  is  trash  : 
While  learning,  once  the  man's  exclusive  pride. 
Seems  verging  fast  towards  the  female  side. 
Learning  itself,  received  into  a  mind 
By  nature  weak,  or  viciously  inclined, 
Serves  but  to  lead  philosophers  astray, 
Where  children  would  with  ease  discern  the  way, 
And  of  all  arts  sagacious  dupes  invent, 
To  cheat  themselves  and  gain  the  world's  assent 
The  worst  is — Scripture  warped  from  its  intent. 
The  carriage  bowls  along,  and  all  are  pleased 
If  Tom  be  sober,  and  the  wheels  well  greased ; 
But  if  the  rogue  have  gone  a  cup  too  far, 
Left  out  his  linchpin,  or  forgot  his  tar, 
It  suffers  interruption  and  delay, 
And  meets  with  hindrance  in  the  smoothest  way 
When  some  hypothesis,  absurd  and  vain, 
Has  filled  with  all  its  fumes  a  critic's  brain, 
The  text  that  sorts  not  with  his  darling  whim, 
Though  plain  to  others,  is  obscure  to  him. 
The  will  made  subject  to  a  lawless  force. 
All  is  irregular  and  out  of  course  ; 
And  Judgment  drunk,  and  bribed  to  lose  his  way, 


43  THE   PROGRESS   OF   ERROR. 

Winks  hard,  and  talks  of  darkness  at  noonday. 

A  critic  on  the  sacred  book  should  be 
Candid  and  learned,  dispassionate  and  free  : 
Free  from  the  wayward  bias  bigots  feel, 
From  fancy's  influence,  and  intemperate  zeal : 
But,  above  all,  (or  let  the  wretch  refrain, 
Nor  touch  the  page  he  cannot  but  profane,) 
Free  from  the  domineering  power  of  lust ; 
A  lewd  interpreter  is  never  just. 

How  shall  I  speak  thee,  or  thy  power  address, 
Thou  god  of  our  idolatry,  the  Press  ? 
By  thee  religion,  liberty,  and  laws, 
Exert  their  influence,  and  advance  their  cause ; 
By  thee  worse  plagues  than  Pharaoh's  land  befel, 
Diffuse,  make  Earth  the  vestibule  of  Hell : 
Thou  fountain,  at  which  drink  the  good  and  wise; 
Thou  ever-bubbling  spring  of  endless  lies ; 
Like  Eden's  dread  ^probationary  tree, 
Knowledge  of  good  and  evil  is  from  thee. 

No  wild  enthusiast  ever  yet  could  rest, 
Till  half  mankind  were  like  himself  possessed. 
Philosophers,  who  darken  and  put  out 
Eternal  truth  by  everlasting  doubt ; 
Church  quacks,  with  passions  under  no  command, 
Who  fill  the  world  with  doctrines  contraband, 
Discoverers  of  they  know  not  what,  confined 
Within  no  bounds — the  blind  that  lead  the  blind ; 
To  streams  of  popular  opinion  drawn, 
Deposit  in  those  shallows  all  their  spawn. 
The  wriggling  fry  soon  fill  the  creeks  around, 

oisoning  the  waters  where  their  swarms  abound. 
Scorned  by  the  nobler  tenants  of  the  flood, 
Minnows  and  gudgeons  gorge  th'  unwholesome  food 
The  propagated  myriads  spread  so  fast, 
E'en  Lewenhoeck  himself  would  stand  aghast, 
Employed  to  calculate  th'  enormous  sum, 
And  own  his  crab-computing  powers  o'ercome. 
Is  this  hyperbole  ?     The  word  well  known 


THE  PROGRESS  OF   ERROR.  43 

Your  sober  thoughts  will  hardly  find  it  one. 

Fresh  confidence  the  speculatist  takes 
From  every  hair-brained  proselyte  he  makes  ; 
And  therefore  prints.     Himself  but  half  deceived, 
Till  others  have  the  soothing  tale  believed. 
Hence  comment  after  comment,  spun  as  fine 
As  bloated  spiders  draw  the  flimsy  line  : 
Hence  the  same  word,  that  bids  our  lusts  obey, 
Is  misapplied  to  sanctify  their  sway. 
If  stubborn  Greek  refuse  to  be  his  friend, 
Hebrew  or  Syriac  shall  be  forced  to  bend : 
If  languages  and  copies  all  cry,  No — 
Somebody  proved  it  centuries  ago. 
Like  trout  pursued,  the  critic  in  despair 
Darts  to  the  mud,  and  finds  his  safety  there. 
Women,  whom  custom  has  forbid  to  fly, 
The  scholar's  pitch  (the  scholar  best  knows  why,) 
With  all  the  simple  and  unlettered  poor, 
Admire  his  learning,  and  almost,  adore. 
Whoever  errs,  the  priest  can  ne'er  be  wrong, 
With  such  fine  words  familiar  to  his  tongue. 
Ye  ladies !  (for  indifferent  in  your  cause, 
I  should  deserve  to  forfeit  all  applause,) 
Whatever  shocks  or  gives  the  least  offence 
To  virtue,  delicacy,  truth,  or  sense, 
Try  the  criterion,  'tis  a  faithful  guide, 
Nor  has,  nor  can  have,  Scripture  on  its  side. 

None  but  an  author  knows  an  author's  cares, 
Or  Fancy's  fondness  for  the  child  she  bears. 
Committed  once  into  the  public  arms, 
The  baby  seems  to  smile  with  added  charms. 
Like  something  precious  ventured  far  from  shore, 
'Tis  valued  ibr  the  danger's  sake  the  more. 
He  views  it  with  complacency  supreme, 
Solicits  kind  attention  to  his  dream  ; 
And  daily  more  enamoured  of  the  cheat, 
Kneels,  and  asks  heaven  to  bless  the  dear  deceit 
So  one,  whose  story  serves  at  least  to  show 


44  THE   PROGRESS    OF   ERROR. 

Men  loved  their  own  productions  long  ago 
Wooed  an  unfeeling  statue  for  his  wife, 
Nor  rested  till  the  gods  had  given  it  life. 
If  some  mere  driveller  suck  the  sugared  fib, 
One  that  still  needs  his  leading-string  and  bib, 
And  praise  his  genius,  he  is  soon  repaid 
In  praise  applied  to  the  same  part — his  head: 
For  'tis  a  rule  that  holds  for  ever  true, 
Grant  me  discernment,  and  I  grant  it  you. 

Patient  of  contradiction  as  a  child, 
Affable,  humble,  diffident,  and  mild  ; 
Such  was  Sir  Isaac,  and  such  Boyle  and  Locke : 
Your  blunderer  is  as  sturdy  as  a  rock. 
The  creature  is  so  sure  to  kick  and  bite, 
A  muleteer's  the  man  to  set  him  right. 
First  appetite  enlists  him  Truth's  sworn  foe, 
Then  obstinate  Self-will  confirms  him  so. 
Tell  him  he  wanders  ;  that  his  error  leads 
To  fatal  ills  ;  that,  though  the  path  he  treads 
Be  flowery,  and  he  sees  no  cause  of  fear, 
Death  and  the  pains  of  hell  attend  him  there ; 
In  vain  :  the  slave  of  arrogance  and  pride : 
He  has  no  hearing  on  the  prudent  side. 
His  still  refuted  quirks  he  still  repeats  ; 
New  raised  objections  with  new  quibbles  meets  ; 
Till  sinking  in  the  quicksand  he  defends, 
He  dies  disputing,  and  the  contest  ends — 
But  not  the  mischiefs  ;  they,  still  left  behind, 
Like  thistle-seeds,  are  sown  by  every  wind. 

Thus  men  go  wrong  with  an  ingenious  skill ; 
Bend  the  straight  rule  to  their  own  crooked  will ; 
And  with  a  clear  and  shining  lamp  supplied, 
First  put  it  out,  then  take  it  for  a  guide. 
Halting  on  crutches  of  unequal  size, 
One  leg  by  truth  supported ;  one  by  lies ; 
They  sidle  to  the  goal  with  awkward  pace, 
Secure  of  nothing  but  to  lose  the  race. 
Faults  in  the  life  breed  errors  in  the  brain, 


THE    PROGRESS   OF    ERROR.  45 

And  these  reciprocally  those  again. 
The  mind  and  conduct  mutually  imprint 
And  stamp  their  image  in  each  other's  mint : 
Each,  sire  and  dam,  of  an  infernal  race, 
Begetting  and  conceiving  all  that's  base. 
None  sends  his  arrow  to  the  mark  in  view, 
Whose  hand  is  feeble,  or  his  aim  untrue. 
For  though  ere  yet,  the  shaft  is  on  the  wing, 
Or  when  it  first  forsakes  th'  elastic  string, 
It  err  but  little  from  the  intended  line, 
It  falls  at  last  far  wide  of  his  design  : 
So  he  who  seeks  a  mansion  in  the  sky, 
Must  watch  his  purpose  with  a  steadfast  eye ; 
That  prize  belongs  to  none  but  the  sincere  ; 
The  least  obliquity  is  fatal  here. 

With  cautious  taste  the  sweet  Circean  cup: 
He  that  sips  often,  at  last  drinks  it  up. 
Habits  are  soon  assumed  ;  but  when  we  strive 
To  strip  them  off,  'tis  being  flayed  alive. 
Called  to  the  temple  of  impure  delight, 
He  that  abstains,  and  he  alone,  does  right. 
If  a  wish  wander  that  way,  call  it  home  ; 
He  cannot  long  be  safe  whose  wishes  roam. 
But,  if  you  pass  the  threshold  you  are  caught ; 
Die  then,  if  power  almighty  save  you  not. 
There  hardening  by  degrees,  till  double  steeled, 
Take  leave  of  nature's  God,  and  God  revealed ; 
Then  laugh  at  all  you  trembled  at  before  ; 
And,  joining  the  free-thinker's  brutal  roar 
Swallow  the  two  grand  nostrums  they  dispense — 
That  Scripture  lies,  and  blasphemy  is  sense  : 
If  clemency  revolted  by  abuse 
Be  damnable,  then  damned  without  excuse. 

Some  dream  that  they  can  silence,  when  they  will, 
The  storm  of  passion,  and  say,  Peace,  be  still  ; 
But  "  Thus  far  and  no  further"  when  addressed 
To  the  wild  wave,  or  wilder  human  breast, 
Imolies  authority  that  never  can, 


46  THE  PROGRESS  OF   ERROR. 

That  never  ought  to  be  the  lot  of  man. 

But,  muse  forbear  ;  long  flights  forbode  a  fall ; 
Strike  on  the  deep-toned  chord  the  sum  of  all. 

Hear  the  just  law — the  judgment  of  the  sides  ! 
He  that  hates  truth  shall  be  the  dupe  of  lies  : 
And  he  that  will  be  cheated  to  the  last, 
Delusions  strong  as  Hell  shall  bind  him  fast. 
But  if  the  wanderer  his  mistake  discern, 
Judge  his  own  ways,  and  sigh  for  a  return, 
Bewildered  once,  must  he  bewail  his  loss 
For  ever  and  for  ever  ?     No — the  cross  ! 
There  and  there  only  (though  the  deist  rave, 
An  atheist,  if  earth  bear  so  base  a  slave  ;) 
There  and  there  only  is  the  power  to  save. 
There  no  delusive  hope  invites  despair ; 
No  mockery  meets  you,  no  deception  there. 
The  spells  and  charms,  that  blinded  you  before, 
All  vanish  there,  and  fascinate  no  more. 

I  am  no  preacher,  let  this  hint  suffice — 
The  cross  once  seen  is  death  to  every  vice  : 
Else  he  that  hung  there  suffered  all  his  pain, 
Bled,  groaned,  and  agonized,  and  died,  in  vain. 


TRUTH. 

Pensantur  trutina. HOT.  Lib.  ii.  Epist  1. 

MAN,  on  the  dubious  waves  of  error  tossed, 
His  ship  half-foundered,  and  his  compass  lost, 
Sees,  far  as  human  optics  may  command, 
A  sleeping  fog,  and  fancies  it  dry  land  : 
Spreads  all  his  canvass,  every  sinew  plies  ; 
Pants  for  %  aims  at  it,  enters  it,  and  dies  ! 
Then  farewell  all  self-satisfying  schemes, 
His  well-built  systems,  philosophic  dreams  j 
Deceitful  views  of  future  bliss  farewell ! — 
He  reads  his  sentence  at  the  flames  of  Hell. 

Hard  lot  of  man — to  toil  for  the  reward 


TRUTH.  47 

Of  virtue,  and  yet  lose  it !     Wherefore  hard  ? 
He  that  would  win  the. race  must  guide  his  horse 
Obedient  to  the  customs  of  the  course  ; 
Else,  though  unequalled  to  the  goal  he  flies, 
A  meaner  than  himself  shall  gain  the  prize. 
Grace  leads  the  right  way ;  if  you  choose  the  wrong 
Take  it  and  perish  ;  but  restrain  your  tongue ; 
Charge  not,  with  light  sufficient,  and  left  free, 
Your  wilful  suicide  on  God's  decree. 

O  how  unlike  the  complex  works  of  man, 
Heaven's  easy,  artless,  unincumbered  plan  1 
No  meretricious  graces  to  beguile, 
No  clustering  ornaments  to  clog  the  pile , 
From  ostentation  as  from  weakness  free, 
It  stands  like  the  cerulean  arch  we  see, 
Majestic  in  its  own  simplicity. 
Inscribed  above  the  portal,  from  afar 
Conspicuous  as  the  brightness  of  a  star, 
Legible  only  by  the  light  they  give, 
Stand  the  soul-quick'ning  words — Believe  and  live. 
Too  many,  shocked  at  what  should  charm  them  most 
Despise  the  plain  direction,  and  are  lost. 
Heaven  on  such  terms  !  (they  cry  with  proud  disdain,) 
Incredible,  impossible,  and  vain  !  — 
Rebel,  because  'tis  easy  to  obey ; 
And  scorn,  for  its  own  sake,  the  gracious  way. 
These  are  the  sober,  in  whose  cooler  brains 
Some  thought  of  immortality  remains  ; 
The  rest,  too  busy  or  too  gay  to  wait 
On  the  sad  theme,  their  everlasting  state, 
Sport  for  a  day,  and  perish  in  a  night, 
The  foam  upon  the  waters  not  so  light. 
Who  judged  the  pharisee  ?  What  odious  cause 
Exposed  him  to  the  vengeance  of  the  laws  ? 
Had  he  seduced  a  virgin,  wronged  a  friend, 
Or  stabbed  a  man  to  serve  some  private  end  ? 
Was  blasphemy  his  sin  ?     Or  did  he  stray 
From  the  strict  duties  of  the  sacred  day  ? 


48  TRUTH. 

Sit  long  and  late  at  the  carousing  board  ? 

(Such  were  the  sins  with  which  he  charged  his  Lord.) 

No — the  man's  morals  were  exact,  what  then  1 

?Twas  his  ambition  to  be  seen  of  men ; 

His  virtues  were  his  pride  ;  and  that  one  vice 

Made  all  his  virtues  gewgaws  of  no  price  ; 

He  wore  them  as  fine  trappings  for  a  show, 

A  praying,  synagogue-frequenting  beau. 

The  self-applauding  bird,  the  peacock  see — 
Mark  what  a  sumptuous  pharisree  is  he  ! 
Meridian  sun-beams  tempt  him  to  unfold 
His  radiant  glories,  azure,  green,  and  gold : 
He  treads  as  if,  some  solemn  music  near, 
His  measured  step  were  governed  by  his  ear : 
And  seems  to  say — Ye  meaner  fowl,  give  place, 
T  am  all  splendour,  dignity,  and  grace  ! 

Not  so  the  pheasant  on  his  charms  presumes, 
Though  he  too  has  a  glory  in  his  plumes. 
He,  Christian  like,  retreats  with  modest  mien 
To  the  close  copse,  or  far-sequestered  green, 
And  shines  without  desiring  to  be  seen. 
The  plea  of  works,  as  arrogant  and  vain, 
Heaven  turns  from  with  abhorrence  arid  disdain ; 
Not  more  affronted  by  avowed  neglect, 
Than  by  the  mere  dissembler's  feigned  respect. 
What  is  all  righteousness  that  men  devise  ? 
What — but  a  sordid  bargain  for  the  skies  ? 
But  Christ  as  soon  would  abdicate  his  own, 
As  stoop  from  Heaven  to  sell  the  proud  a  throne. 

His  dwelling  a  recess  in  some  rude  rock, 
Book,  beads,  and  maple  dish,  his  meager  stock 
In  shirt  of  hair,  and  weeds  of  canvass,  dressed, 
Girt  with  a  bell-rope  that  the  pope  has  blessed ; 
Adust  with  stripes  told  out  for  every  crime, 
And  sore  tormented  long  before  his  time  ; 
His  prayer  preferred  to  saints'  that  cannot  aid ; 
His  praise  postponed,  and  never  to  be  paid ; 
the  sage  hermit,  by  mankind  admired, 


TRUTH.  40 

With  all  that  bigotry  adopts  inspired, 

Wearing  out  life  in  his  religious  whim, 

Till  his  religious  whimsy  wears  out  him. 

His  works,  his  abstinence,  his  zeal  allowed, 

You  think  him  humble — God  accounts  him  proud. 

High  in  demand,  though  lowly  in  pretence, 

Of  all  his  conduct  this  the  genuine  sense — 

My  penitential  stripes,  my  streaming  blood, 

Have  purchased  Heaven  and  prove  my  title  good 

Turn  Eastward  now,  and  Fancy  shall  apply 
To  your  weak  sight  her  telescopic  eye. 
The  bramin  kindles  on  his  own  bare  head 
The  sacred  fire,  self -torturing  his  trade  ; 
His  voluntary  pains,  severe  and  long, 
Would  give  a  barbarous  air  to  British  song ; 
No  grand  inquisitor  could  worse  invent, 
Than  he  contrives  to  suffer,  well  content. 

Which  is  the  saintlier  worthy  of  the  two  ? 
Past  all  dispute,  yon  anchorite  say  you. 
Your  sentence  and  mine  differ.     What's  a  name  ? 
I  say  the  bramin  has  the  fairer  claim. 
If  sufferings,  Scripture  nowhere  recommends, 
Devised  by  self  to  answer  selfish  ends, 
Give  saintship,  then  all  Europe  must  agree 
Ten  starveling  hermits  suffer  less  than  he. 

The  truth  is  (if  the  truth  may  suit  your  ear, 
And  prejudice  have  left  a  passage  clear,) 
Pride  has  attained  its  most  luxuriant  growth, 
And  poisoned  every  virtue  in  them  both. 
Pride  may  be  pampered  while  the  flesh  grows  lean  ; 
Humility  may  clothe  an  English  dean  ; 
That  grace  was  Cowper's — -his,  confessed  by  all — 
Though  placed  in  golden  Durham's  second  stall. 
Not  all  the  plenty  of  a  bishop's  board, 
His  palace,  and  his  lackeys,  and  "  My  Lord," 
More  nourish  pride,  that  condescending  vice, 
Than  abstinence,  and  beggary,  and  lice  ; 
It  thrives  in  misery,  and  abundant  grows  : 

o 


60  TRUTH. 

In  misery  fools  upon  themselves  impose. 

But  why  before  us  protestants  produce 
An  Indian  mystic,  or  a  French  recluse  ? 
Their  sin  is  plain  ;  but  what  have  we  to  fear, 
Reformed  and  well  instructed  ?     You  shall  hear. 

Yon  ancient  prude,  whose  withered  features  show 
She  might  be  young  some  forty  years  ago, 
Her  elbows  pinioned  close  upon  her  hips, 
Her  head  erect,  her  fan  upon  her  lips, 
Her  eye-brows  arched,  her  eyes  both  gone  astray 
To  watch  yon  amorous  couple  in  their  play, 
With  bony  and  unkerchiefed  neck  defies 
The  rude  inclemency  of  wintry  skies, 
And  sails  with  lappet-head  and  mincing  airs 
Duly  at  clink  of  bell  to  morning  prayers. 
To  thrift  arid  parsimony  much  inclined, 
She  yet  allows  herself  that  boy  behind ; 
The  shivering  urchin,  bending  as  he  goes, 
With  slipshod  heels,  and  dewdrop  at  his  nose ; 
His  predecessor's  coat  advanced  to  wear, 
Which  future  pages  yet  are  doomed  to  share, 
Carries  her  Bible  tucked  beneath  his  arm, 
And  hides  his  hands  to  keep  his  fingers  warm. 

She,  half  an  angel  in  her  own  account, 
Doubts  not  hereafter  with  the  saints  to  mount, 
Though  not  a  grace  appears  on  strictest  search, 
But  that  she  fasts,  and  item,  goes  to  church. 
Conscious  of  age,  she  recollects  her  youth, 
And  tells,  not  always  with  an  eye  to  truth, 
Who  spanned  her  waist,  and  who,  where'er  he  came, 
Scrawled  upon  glass  Miss  Bridget's  lovely  name  \ 
Who  stole  her  slipper,  filled  it  with  tokay, 
And  drank  the  little  bumper  every  day. 
Of  temper  as  envenomed  as  an  asp, 
Censorious,  and  her  every  word  a  wasp  ; 
In  faithful  memory  she  records  the  crimes, 
Or  real  or  fictitious,  of  the  times  ; 
Laughs  at  the  reputations  she  has  torn,  .    < 


TRUTH.  51 

And  holds  them  dangling  at  arm's  length  in  scorn. 

Such  are  the  fruits  of  sanctimonious  pride, 
Of  malice  fed  while  flesh  is  mortified : 
Take,  Madam,  the  reward  of  all  your  prayers, 
Where  hermits  and  where  bramins  meet  with  theirs; 
Your  portion  is  with  them. — Nay,  never  frown, 
But,  if  you  please,  some  fathoms  lower  down. 

Artist  attend — your  brushes  and  your  paint — 
Produce  them — take  a  chair — now  draw  a  saint. 
Oh  sorrowful  and  sad  !  the  streaming  tears 
Channel  her  cheeks — a  Niobe  appears  ! 
Is  this  a  saint  ?     Throw  tints  and  all  away — 
True  piety  is  cheerful  as  the  day, 
Will  weep  indeed  and  heave  a  pitying  groan 
For  others'  woes,  but  smiles  upon  her  own. 

What  purpose  has  the  King  of  saints  in  view? 
Why  falls  the  Gospel  like  a  gracious  dew  ? 
To  call  up  plenty  from  the  teeming  earth, 
Or  curse  the  desert  with  a  tenfold  dearth  ? 
Is  it  that  Adam's  offspring  may  be  saved 
Prom  servile  fear,  or  be  the  more  enslaved  ? 
To  loose  the  links  that  galled  mankind  before, 
Or  bind  them  faster  on,  and  add  still  more  ? 
The  freeborn  Christian  has  no  chains  to  prove, 
Or,  if  a  chain,  the  golden  one  of  love  ; 
No  fear  attends  to  quench  his  glowing  fires, 
What  fear  he  feels,  his  gratitude  inspires. 
Shall  he,  for  such  deliverance  freely  wrought, 
Recompense  ill  ?     He  trembles  at  the  thought. 
His  Master's  interest  and  his  own  combined, 
Prompt  every  movement  of  his  heart  and  mind : 
Thought,  word,  and  deed  his  liberty  evince, 
His  freedom  is  the  freedom  of  a  prince. 

Man's  obligations  infinite,  of  course 
His  life  should  prove  that  he  perceives  their  force ; 
His  utmost  he  can  render  is  but  small — 
The  principle  and  motive  all  in  all. 
You  have  two  servants — Tom,  an  arch,  sly  rougue 


52  TRUTH. 

From  top  to  toe  the  Geta  now  in  vogue, 

Genteel  in  figure,  easy  in  address, 

Mores  without  noise,  and  swift  as  an  express  j 

Reports  a  message  with  a  pi  easing  grace, 

Expert  in  all  the  duties  of  his  place  ; 

Say,  on  what  hinge  does  his  obedience  move  ? 

Has  he  a  world  of  gratitude  and  love  ? 

No,  not  a  spark — 'tis  all  mere  sharper's  play ; 

He  likes  your  house,  your  housemaid  and  your  pay , 

Reduce  his  wages  or  get  rid  of  her, 

Tom  quits  you,  with — Your  most  obedient,  Sir. 

The  dinner  served,  Charles  takes  his  usual  stand, 
Watches  your  eye,  anticipates  command. 
Sighs  if  perhaps  your  appetite  should  fail ; 
And,  if  he  but  suspects  a  frown,  turns  pale  ; 
Consults  all  day  your  interest  and  your  ease, 
Richly  rewarded  if  he  can  but  please  ; 
And,  proud  to  make  his  firm  attachment  known, 
To  save  your  life  would  nobly  risk  his  own. 

Now  which  stands  highest  in  your  serious  thought? 
Charles,  without  doubt,  say  you — and  so  he  ought ; 
One  act,  that  from  a  thankful  heart  proceeds, 
Excels  ten  thousand  mercenary  deeds. 

Thus  Heaven  approves,  as  honest  and  sincere. 
The  work  of  generous  love  and  filial  fear ; 
But  with  averted  eyes  th'  omniscient  Judge 
Scorns  the  base  hireling,  and  the  slavish  drudge. 
Where  dwell  these  matchless  saints  ? — old  Curio  cries, 
E'en  at  your  side,  Sir,  and  before  your  eyes, 
The  favoured  few — th'  enthusiasts  you  despise. 
And  pleased  at  heart,  because  on  holy  ground 
Sometimes  a  canting  hypocrite  is  found, 
Reproach  a  people  with  his  single  fall, 
And  cast  his  filthy  garment  at  them  all. 
Attend  ! — an  apt  similitude  shall  show, 
Whence  springs  the  conduct  that  offends  you  so. 

See  where  it  smokes  along  the  sounding  plain, 
Blown  all  aslant,  a  driving,  dashing  rain, 


TRUTH.  53 

Peal  upon  peal  redoubling  all  around, 

Shakes  it  again  and  faster  to  the  ground  ; 

Now  flashing  wide,  now  glancing  as  in  play, 

Swift  beyond  thought  the  lightnings  dart  away ; 

Ere  yet  it  came  the  traveller  urged  his  steed, 

And  hurried,  but  with  unsuccessful  speed  ; 

Now  drenched  throughout,  and  hopeless  of  his  case, 

He  drops  the  rein,  and  leaves  him  to  his  pace. 

Suppose,  unlocked  for  in  a  scene  so  rude, 

Long  hid  by  interposing  hill  or  wood, 

Some  mansion,  neat  and  elegantly  dressed, 

By  some  kind  hospitable  heart  possessed, 

Offer  him  warmth,  security,  and  rest ; 

Think  with  what  pleasure,  safe  and  at  his  ease, 

He  hears  the  tempest  howling  in  the  trees  ; 

What  glowing  thanks  his  lips  and  heart  employ, 

While  danger  past  is  turned  to  present  joy. 

So  fares  it  with  the  sinner,  when  he  feels 

A  growing  dread  of  vengeance  at  his  heels  : 

His  conscience,  like  a  glassy  lake  before, 

Lashed  into  foaming  waves,  begins  to  roar  ; 

The  law  grown  clamorous,  though  silent  long, 

Arraigns  him — charges  him  with  every  wrong — 

Asserts  the  rights  of  his  offended  Lord, 

And  death  or  restitution  is  the  word  : 

The  last  impossible,  he  fears  the  first, 

And,  having  well  deserved,  expects  the  worst, 

Then  welcome  refuge,  and  a  peaceful  home  ; 

Oh  for  a  shelter  from  the  wrath  to  come  ! 

Crush  me,  ye  rocks  !  ye  falling  mountains  hide, 

Or  bury  me  in  ocean's  angry  tide. 

The  scrutiny  of  those  all-seeing  eyes 

I  dare  not — And  you  need  not,  God  replies  ; 

The  remedy  you  want  I  freely  give  : 

The  Book  shall  teach  you — read,  believe,  and  live 

"Tis  done — the  raging  storm  is  heard  no  more, 

Mercy  receives  him  on  her  peaceful  shore  : 

And  Justice,  guardian  of  the  dread  command, 


54  TRUTH. 

Drops  the  red  vengeance  from  his  willing  hand* 
A  soul  redeemed  demands  a  life  of  praise ; 
Hence  the  complexion  of  his  future  days, 
Ffciice  a  demeanour  holy  and  unspecked, 
And  the  world's  hatred,  as  its  sure  effect. 

Some  lead  a  life  unblameable  and  just, 
Their  own  dear  virtue  their  unshaken  trust ; 
They  never  sin — or  if  (as  all  offend) 
Some  trivial  slips  their  daily,  walk  attend, 
The  poor  are  near  at  hand,  the  charge  is  small, 
A  slight  gratuity  atones  for  all. 
For  though  the  pope  has  lost  his  interest  here, 
And  pardons  are  not  sold  as  once  they  were, 
No  papist  more  desirous  to  compound, 
Than  some  grave  sinners  upon  English  ground. 
That  plea  refuted,  other  quirks  they  seek — 
Mercy  is  infinite,  and  man  is  weak  ; 
The  future  shall  obliterate  the  past, 
And  Heaven  no  doubt  shall  be  their  home  at  last. 

Come  then — a  still,  small  whisper  in  your  ear — 
He  has  no  hope  who  never  had  a  fear  ; 
And  he  that  never  doubted  of  his  state, 
He  may  perhaps — perhaps  he  may — too  late. 

The  path  to  bliss  abounds  with  many  a  snare ; 
Learning  is  one,  and  wit,  however  rare. 
The  Frenchman,  first  in  literary  fame, 
(Mention  him  if  you  please.)     Voltaire  ? — The  sama 
With  spirit,  genius,  eloquence,  supplied, 
Lived  long,  wrote  much,  laughed  heartily,  and  died 
The  scripture  was  his  jest-book,  whence  he  drew 
Bon  mots  to  gall  the  Christian  and  the  Jew ; 
An  infidel  in  health,  but  what  when  sick  1 
Oh — then  a  text  would  touch  him  at  the  quick: 
View  him  at  Paris  in  his  last  career, 
Surrounding  throngs  the  demi-god  revere ; 
Exalted  on  his  pedestal  of  pride, 
And  fumed  frankincense  on  every  side, 
He  begs  their  flattery  with  his  latest  breath. 


TRUTH.  55 

And  smothered  in  't  at  last,  is  praised  to  death. 

Yon  cottager,  who  weaves  at  her  own  door, 
Pillow  and  bobbins  all  her  little  store ; 
Content  though  mean,  and  cheerful  if  not  gay, 
Shuffling  her  threads  about  the  livelong  day, 
Just  earns  a  scanty  pittance,  and  at  night, 
Lies  down  secure,  her  heart  and  pocket  light ; 
She,  for  her  humble  sphere  by  nature  fit, 
(Has  little  understanding,  and  no  wit, 
Receives  no  praise  ;  but,  though  her  lot  be  such, 
Toilsome  and  indigent)  she  renders  much  ; 
Just  knows,  and  knows  no  more,  her  Bible  true 
A  truth  the  brilliant  Frenchman  never  knew  ; 
And  in  that  charter  reads  with  sparkling  eyes 
Her  title  to  a  treasure  in  the  skies. 
Oh  happy  peasant !  Oh  unhappy  bard  ! 
His  the  mere  tinsel,  hers  the  rich  reward  ; 
He  praised  perhaps  for  ages  yet  to  come, 
She  never  heard  of  half  a  mile  from  home  : 
He  lost  in  errors  his  vain  heart  prefers, 
She  safe  in  the  simplicity  of  hers. 

Not  many  wise,  rich,  noble,  or  profound 
In  science,  win  one  inch  of  heavenly  ground. 
And  is  it  not  a  mortifying  thought 
The  poor  should  gain  it,  and  the  rich  should  not  ? 
No — the  voluptuaries,  who  ne'er  forget 
One  pleasure  lost,  lose  Heaven  without  regret ; 
Regret  would  rouse  them,  and  give  birth  to  prayer ; 
Prayer  would  add  faith,  and  faith  would  fix  them 
there. 

Not  that  the  Former  of  us  all,  in  this, 
Or  aught  he  does  is  governed  by  caprice  ; 
The  supposition  is  replete  with  sin, 
Arid  bears  the  brand  of  blasphemy  burnt  in. 
Not  so — the  silver  trumpet's  heavenly  call 
Sounds  for  the  poor,  but  sounds  alike  for  all : 
Kings  are  invited,  and  would  kings  obey, 
No  slaves  on  earth  more  welcome  were  than  they : 


56  TRUTH. 

But  royalty,  nobility,  and  state, 
Are  such  a  dead  preponderating  weight 
That  endless  bliss  (how  strange  soe'er  it  seem) 
In  counterpoise,  flies  up  and  kicks  the  beam. 
"Tis  open  !  and  ye  cannot  enter — why  ? 
Because  ye  will  not,  Conyers  would  reply — 
And  he  says  much  that  many  may  dispute, 
And  cavil  at  with  ease,  but  none  refute. 
O  blessed  effect  of  penury  and  want ; 
The  seed  sown  there-how  vigorous  is  the  plant 
No  soil  like  poverty  for  growth  divine, 
As  leanest  land  supplies  the  richest  wine. 
Earth  gives  too  little,  giving  only  bread, 
To  nourish  pride,  or  turn  the  weakest  head  : 
To  them  the  sounding  jargon  of  the  schools 
Seems  what  it  is — a  cap  and  bells  for  fools : 
The  light  they  walked  by,  kindled  from  above, 
Shows  them  the  shortest  way  to  life  and  love : 
They,  strangers  to  the  controversial  field, 
Where  deists,  always  foiled,  yet  scorn  to  yield, 
And  never  checked  by  what  impedes  the  wise, 
Believe,  rush  forward,  and  possess  the  prize. 

Envy,  ye  great,  the  dull  unlettered  small : 
Ye  have  much  cause  for  envy — but  not  all. 
We  boast  some  rich  ones  whom  the  Gospel 
And  one  who  wears  a  coronet  and  prays ; 
Like  gleanings  of  an  olive  tree  they  show, 
Here  and  there  one  upon  the  topmost  bough. 

How  readily  upon  the  gospel  plan, 
That  question  has  its  answer — What  is  man  ? 
Sinful  and  weak,  in  every  sense  a  wretch  ; 
An  instrument,  whose  chords  upon  the  stretch, 
And  strained  to  the  last  c~rew  that  he  can  bear, 
Yield  only  discord  in  his  Ma»;°r's  ear  : 
Once  the  blest  residence  of  truth  divine, 
Glorious  as  Solyma's  interior  shrine, 
Where,  in  his  own  oracular  abode, 
Dwelt  visibly  the  light-creating  God  j 


TRUTH.  67 

But  made  long  since,  like  Babylon  of  old, 

A  den  of  mischiefs  never  to  be  told : 

And  she,  once  mistress  of  the  realms  around, 

Now  scattered  wide,  and  no  where  to  be  found, 

As  soon  shall  rise  and  reascend  the  throne, 

By  native  power  and  energy  her  own, 

As  Nature,  at  her  own  peculiar  cost, 

Restore  to  man  the  glories  he  has  lost. 

Go — bid  the  winter  cease  to  chill  the  year, 

Replace  the  wand'ring  comet  in  his  sphere, 

Then  boast  (but  wait  for  that  unhoped  for  hour) 

The  self-restoring  arm  of  human  power  ; 

But  what  is  man  in  his  own  proud  esteem  ? 

Hear  him — himself  the  poet  and  the  theme : 

A  monarch  clothed  with  majesty  and  awe, 

His  mind  his  kingdom,  and  his  will  his  law, 

Grace  in  his  mien,  and  glory  in  his  eyes, 

Supreme  on  earth,  arid  worthy  of  the  skies, 

Strength  in  his  heart,  dominion  in  his  nod, 

And,  thunderbolts  excepted,  quite  a  God  ! 

So  sings  he,  charmed  with  his  own  mind  and  form, 

The  song  magnificent — the  theme  a  worm  ! 

Himself  so  much  the  source  of  his  delight, 

His  Maker  has  no  beauty  in  his  sight. 

See  where  he  sits,  contemplative  and  fixed, 

Pleasure  and  wonder  in  his  features  mixed, 

His  passions  tamed  and  all  at  his  control 

How  perfect  the  composure  of  his  soul ! 

Complacency  has  breathed  a  gentle  gale 

O'er  all  his  thoughts,  and  swelled  his  easy  sail : 

His  books  well  trimmed  and  in  the  gayest  style, 

Like  regimental  coxcombs,  rank  and  file, 

Adorn  his  intellects  as  well  as  shelves, 

Arid  teach  him  notions  splendid  as  themselves  • 

The  Bible  only  stands  neglected  there, 

Though  that  of  all  most  worthy  of  his  care ; 

And,  like  an  infant  troublesome  awake, 

Is  left  to  sleep  for  peace  and  quiet's  sake. 


58  TRUTH. 

What  shall  the  man  deserve  of  human  kind, 
Whose  happy  skill  and  industry  combined 
Shall  prove  (what  argument  could  never  yet) 
The  Bible  an  imposture  and  a  cheat  ? 
The  praises  of  the  libertine  professed, 
The  worst  of  men,  and  curses  of  the  best. 
Where  should  the  living,  weeping  o'er  his  woes ; 
The  dying,  trembling  at  the  awful  close  ; 
Where  the  betrayed,  forsaken,  and  oppressed, 
The  thousands  whom  the  world  forbids  to  rest ; 
Where  should  they  find  (those  comforts  at  an  end 
The  Scripture  yields,)  or  hope  to  find,  a  friend  ? 
Sorrow  might  muse  herself  to  madness  then, 
And,  seeking  exile  from  the  sight  of  men, 
Bury  herself  in  solitude  profound, 
Grow  frantic  with  her  pangs,  and  bite  the  ground. 
Thus  often  Unbelief,  grown  sick  of  life, 
Flies  to  the  tempting  pool,  or  felon  knife. 
The  jury  meet,  the  coroner  is  short, 
And  lunacy  the  verdict  of  the  court  : 
Reverse  the  sentence,  let  the  truth  be  known, 
Such  lunacy  is  ignorance  alone ; 
They  knew  not,  what  some  bishops  may  not  know, 
That  scripture  is  the  only  cure  of  wo  ; 
That  field  of  promise,  how  it  flings  abroad 
Its  odour  o'er  the  Christian's  thorny  road ! 
The  soul,  reposing  on  assured  relief, 
Feels  herself  happy  amidst  all  her  grief, 
Forgets  her  labour  as  she  toils  along, 
Weeps  tears  of  joy,  and  bursts  into  a  song. 

But  the  same  word,  that,  like  the  polished  share, 
Ploughs  up  the  roots  of  a  believer's  care, 
Kills  too  the  flow'ry  weeds,  where'er  they  grow, 
That  bind  the  sinner's  Bacchanalian  brow. 
Oh  that  unwelcome  voice  of  heavenly  love, 
Sad  messenger  of  rnercy  from  above, 
How  does  it  grate  upon  his  thankless  ear, 
Crippling  his  pleasures  with  the  cramp  of  fear  ! 


TRUTH.  59 

His  will  and  judgment  at  continual  strife, 

That  civil  war  imbitters  all  his  life  : 

In  vain  he  points  his  powers  against  the  skies, 

In  vain  he  closes  or  averts  his  eyes, 

Truth  will  intrude — she  bids  him  yet  beware  ; 

And  shakes  the  sceptic  in  the  scorner's  chair. 

Though  various  foes  against  the  truth  combine, 
Pride  above  all  opposes  her  design  ; 
Pride,  of  a  growth  superior  to  the  rest, 
The  subtlest  serpent  with  the  loftiest  crest, 
Swells  at  the  thought,  and-,  kindling  into  rage, 
Would  hiss  the  cherub  Mercy  from  the  stage. 

And  is  the  soul  indeed  so  lost  ? — she  cries, 
Fallen  from  her  glory,  and  too  weak  to  rise  ? 
Torpid  and  dull  beneath  a  frozen  zone, 
Has  she  no  spark  that  may  be  deemed  her  own  ? 
Grant  her  indebted  to  what  zealots  call 
Grace  undeserved,  yet  surely  not  for  all — 
Some  beams  of  rectitude  she  yet  displays, 
Some  love  of  virtue,  and  some  power  to  praise ; 
Can  lift  herself  above  corporeal  things, 
And,  soaring  on  her  own  unborrowed  wings, 
Possess  herself  of  all  that's  good  or  true, 
Assert  the  skies,  and  vindicate  her  due. 
Past  indiscretion  is  a  venial  crime, 
And  if  the  youth,  unmellowed  yet  by  time, 
Bore  on  his  branch,  luxuriant  then  and  rude, 
Fruits  of  a  blighted  size,  austere  and  crude, 
Maturer  years  shall  happier  stores  produce, 
And  meliorate  the  well-concocted  juice. 
Then,  conscious  of  her  meritorious  zeal, 
To  justice  she  may  make  her  bold  appeal, 
And  leave  to  mercy,  with  a  tranquil  mind, 
The  worthless  and  unfruitful  of  mankind. 
•  Hear  then  how  mercy,  slighted  and  defied, 
Retorts  the  affront  against  the  crown  of  Pride. 

Perish  the  virtue,  as  it  ought,  abhorred, 
And  the  fool  with  it  who  insults  his  Lord. 


60  TRUTH. 

The  atonement,  a  Redeemer's  love  has  wrought, 

Is  not  for  you — the  righteous  need  it  not. 

Seest  thou  yon  harlot,  wooing  all  she  meets, 

The  worn-out  nuisance  of  the  public  streets, 

Herself  from  morn  to  night,  from  night  to  morn, 

Her  own  abhorrence,  and  as  much  your  scorn ; 

The  gracious  shower,  unlimited  and  free, 

Shall  fall  on  her,  when  Heaven  denies  it  thee. 

Of  all  that  wisdom  dictates,  this  the  drift, 

That  man  is  dead  in  sin,  and  life  a  gift. 

Is  virtue,  then,  unless  of  Christian  growth, 

Mere  fallacy,  or  foolishness,  or  both  ? 

Ten  thousand  sages  lost  in  endless  wo, 

For  ignorance  of  what  they  could  not  know  ? 

That"speech  betrays  at  once  a  bigot's  tongue, 

Charge  not  a  God  with  such  outrageous  wrong. 

Truly  not  I — the  partial  light  men  have, 

My  creed  persuades  me,  well-employed,  may  save  : 

While  he  that  scorns  the  noonday  beam,  perverse, 

Shall  find  the  blessing  unimproved  a  curse. 

Let  heathen  worthies,  whose  exalted  mind 

Left  sensuality  and  dross  behind, 

Possess  for  me  their  undisputed  lot, 

And  take  unenvied  the  reward  they  sought. 

But  still  in  virtue  of  a  Saviour's  plea, 

Not  blind  by  choice,  but  destined  not  to  see. 

Their  fortitude  and  wisdom  were  a  flame 

Celestial,  though  they  knew  not  whence  it  came, 

Derived  from  the  same  source  of  light  and  grace, 

That  guides  the  Christian  in  his  swifter  race  ; 

Their  judge  was  conscience,  and  her  rule  their  law, 

That  rule,  pursued  with  reverence  and  with  awe, 

Led  them,  however  faltering,  faint,  and  slow, 

From  what  they  knew,  to  what  they  wished  to  kno* 

But  let  not  him,  that  shares  a  brighter  day 

Traduce  the  splendour  of  a  noontide  ray, 

Prefer  the  twilight  of  a  darker  time, 

And  deem  his  base  stupidity  no  crime : 


TRUTH.  61 

The  wretch,  who  slights  the  bounties  of  the  skies 
And  sinks,  while  favoured  with  the  means  to  rise, 
Shall  find  them  rated  at  their  full  amount ; 
The  good  he  scorned  all  carried  to  account. 

Marshaling  all  his  terrors  as  he  came,  /£ 

Thunder,  and  earthquake,  and  devouring  flame, 
From  Sinai's  top  Jehovah  gave  the  law, 
Life  for  obedience,  death  for  every  flaw. 
When  the  great  Sovereign  would  his  will  express, 
He  gives  a  perfect  rule  ;  what  can  he  less  ? 
And  guards  it  with  a  sanction  as  severe 
As  vengeance  can  ieflict,  or  sinners  fear  : 
Else  his  own  glorious  rights  he  would  disclaim, 
And  man  might  safely  trifle  with  his  name. 
He  bids  him  glow  with  unremitting  love 
To  all  on  earth,  and  to  himself  above  ; 
Condemns  the  injurious  deed,  the  sland'rous  tongue, 
The  thought  that  meditates  a  brother's  wrong ; 
Brings  not  alone  the  more  conspicuous  part, 
His  conduct,  to  the  test,  but  tries  his  heart. 

Hark  !  universal  nature  shook  and  groaned, 
'Twas  the  last  trumpet — see  the  judge  enthroned  ; 
Rouse  all  your  courage  at  your  utmost  need, 
Now  summon  every  virtue,  stand  and  plead. 
What !  silent  ?  Is  your  boasting  heard  no  more  ? 
That  self-renouncing  wisdom,  learned  before, 
Had  shed  immortal  glories  on  your  brow, 
That  all  your  virtues  cannot  purchase  now. 

All  joy  to  the  believer  !  He  can  speak — 
Trembling  yet  happy,  confident  yet  meek. 

Since  the  dear  hour,  that  brought  me  to  thy  toot) 
And  cut  up  all  my  follies  by  the  root, 
I  never  trusted  in  an  arm  but  thine, 
Nor  hoped,  but  in  thy  righteousness  divine  : 
My  prayers  and  alms,  imperfect  and  defiled, 
Were  but  the  feeble  efforts  of  a  child  ; 
Powe'er  performed,  it  was  their  brightest  part, 
Tha/  they  proceeded  from  a  grateful  heart :    • 

6 


62  TRUTH. 

Cleansed  in  thine  own  all  purifying  blood, 
Forgive  their  evil,  and  accept  their  good  ; 
I  cast  them  at  thy  feet — my  only  plea 
Is  what  it  was,  dependence  upon  thee  ; 
While  struggling  in  the  vale  of  tears  below, 
That  never  failed,  nor  shall  it  fail  me  now. 

Angelic  gratulations  rend  the  skies, 
Pride  falls  unpitied,  never  more  to  rise, 
Humility  is  crowned,  and  Faith  receives  the  prize. 


EXPOSTULATION. 

Tantane  tarn  patiens,  nullo  certamine  tolli 
Dona  sines  7  Virg.  JEn.  Lib.  V. 

WHY  weeps  the  muse  for  England?  What  appears 
In  England's  case,  to  move  the  muse  to  tears  ? 
From  side  to  side  of  her  delightful  isle 
Is  she  not  clothed  with  a  perpetual  smile  ? 
Can  nature  add  a  charm,  or  art  confer 
A  new-found  luxury  not  seen  in  her  ? 
Where  under  heaven  is  pleasure  more  pursued, 
Or  where  does  cold  reflection  less  intrude  ? 
Her  fields  a  rich  expanse  of  wavy  corn, 
Poured  out  from  plenty's  overflowing  horn , 
Ambrosial  gardens,  in  which  art  supplies 
The  fervour  and  the  force  of  Indian  skies  ; 
Her  peaceful  shores,  where  busy  commerce  waits 
To  pour  his  golden  tide  through  all  her  gates ; 
Whom  fiery  suns,  that  scorch  the  russet  spice 
Of  eastern  groves,  and  oceans  floored  with  ice, 
Forbid  in  vain  to  push  his  daring  way 
To  darker  climes,  or  climes  of  brighter  day  ; 
Whom  the  winds  waft  where'er  the  billows  roll, 
From  the  world's  girdle  to  the  frozen  pole ; 
The  chariots  bounding  in  her  wheel-worn  streets, 
Her  vaults  below,  where  every  vintage  meets  ; 
Her  theatres,  her  revels,  and  her  sports ; 


EXPOSTULATION.  63 

The  scenes  to  which  not  youth  alone  lesoits, 
But  age,  in  spite  of  weakness  and  of  pain, 
Still  haunts,  in  hope  to  dream  of  youth  again ; 
All  speak  her  happy  :  let  the  Muse  look  round 
From  East  to  West,  no  sorrow  can  be  found ; 
Or  only  what,  in  cottages  confined, 
Sighs  unregarded  to  the  passing  wind. 
Then  wherefore  weep  for  England  ?     What  appears 
In  England's  case  to  move  the  muse  to  tears  ? 

The  prophet  wept  for  Israel ;  wished  his  eyes 
Were  fountains  fed  with  infinite  supplies ; 
For  Israel  dealt  in  robbery  and  wrong ; 
There  were  the  scorner's  and  the  slanderer's  tongue. 
Oaths,  used  as  playthings  or  convenient  tools, 
As  interest  bias'd  knaves,  or  fashion  fools  ; 
Adultery,  neighing  at  his  neighbour's  door ; 
Oppression,  laboring  hard  to  grind  the  poor ; 
The  partial  balance,  and  deceitful  weight ; 
The  treacherous  smile,  a  mask  for  secret  hate ;    .^'} 
Hypocrisy,  formality  in  prayer, 
And  the  dull  service  of  the  lip  were  there. 
Her  women,  insolent  and  self-caressed, 
By  Vanity's  unwearied  finger  dressed. 
Forgot  the  blush  that  virgin  fears  impart 
To  modest  cheeks,  and  borrowed  one  from  art ; 
Were  just  such  trifles,  without  worth  or  use, 
As  silly  pride  and  idleness  produce  ; 
Curled,  scented,  furbelowed,  and  flounced  around, 
With  feet  too  delicate  to  touch  the  ground, 
They  stretched  the  neck,  and  rolled  the  wanton  eye 
And  sighed  for  every  fool  that  fluttered  by. 

He  saw  his  people  slaves  to  every  lust, 
Lewd,  avaricious,  arrogant,  unjust : 
He  heard  the  wheels  of  an  avenging  God 
Groan  heavily  along  the  distant  road  ; 
Saw  Babylon  set  wide  her  two-leaved  brass 
To  let  the  military  deluge  pass  ; 
Jerusalem  a  prey,  her  glory  soiled, 


64  EXPOSTULATION. 

Her  princes  captive,  and  her  treasures  spoiled , 
Wept  till  all  Israel  heard  his  bitter  cry, 
Stamped  with  his  foot,  and  smote  upon  his  thigh : 
But  wept,  and  stamped,  and  smote  his  thigh  in  vain ; 
Pleasure  is  deaf  when  told  of  future  pain, 
And  sounds  prophetic  are  too  rough  to  suit 
Ears  long  accustomed  to  the  pleasing  lute  ; 
They  scorned  his  inspiration  and  his  theme, 
Pronounced  him  frantic,  and  his  fears  a  dream ; 
With  self-indulgence  winged  the  fleeting  hours, 
Till  the  foe  found  them,  and  down  fell  their  towers, 

Long  time  Assyria  bound  them  in  her  chain, 
Till  penitence  had  purged  the  public  stain, 
And  Cyrus,  with  relenting  pity  moved, 
Returned  them  happy  to  the  land  they  loved ; 
There,  proof  against  prosperity,  awhile 
They  stood  the  test  of  her  ensnaring  smile, 
And  had  the  grace  in  scenes  of  peace  to  show 
The  virtue  they  had  learned  in  scenes  of  wo. 
But  man  is  frail,  and  can  but  ill  sustain 
A  long  immunity  from  grief  and  pain ; 
And  after  all  the  joys  that  Plenty  leads, 
With  tiptoe  step  Vice  silently  succeeds. 

When  he  that  ruled  them  with  a  shepherd's  rod, 
In  form  a  man,  in  dignity  a  God, 
Came,  not  expected  in  that  humble  guise, 
To  sift  and  search  them  with  unerring  eyes, 
He  found,  concealed  beneath  a  fair  outside, 
The  filth  of  rottenness,  and  worm  of  pride  ; 
Their  piety  a  system  of  deceit, 
Scripture  employed  to  sanctify  the  cheat ; 
The  Pharisee  the  dupe  of  his  own  art, 
Self-idolized,  and  yet  a  knave  at  heart. 

When  nations  are  to  perish  in  their  sins, 
'Tis  in  the  church  the  leprosy  begins  ; 
The  priest,  whose  office  is  with  zeal  sincere 
To  watch  the  fountain,  and  preserve  it  clear, 
Carelessly  nods  and  sleeps  upon  the  brink, 


EXPOSTULATION.  65 

While  others  poison  what  the  flock  must  drink ; 
Or,  waking  at  the  call  of  lust  alone, 
Infuses  lies  and  errors  of  his  own  : 
His  unsuspecting  sheep  believe  it  pure  ; 
And,  tainted  by  the  very  means  of  cure, 
Catch  from  each  other  a  contagious  spot, 
The  foul  fore-runner  of  a  general  rot. 
Then  Truth  is  hushed,  that  Heresy  may  preach : 
And  all  is  trash,  that  Reason  cannot  reach  : 
Then  God's  own  image  on  the  soul  impressed, 
Becomes  a  mock'ry,  and  a  standing  jest ; 
And  faith,  the  root  whence  only  can  arise 
The  graces  of  a  life  that  wins  the  skies, 
Loses  at  once  all  value  and  esteem, 
Pronounced  by  gray-beards  a  pernicious  dream; 
Then  Ceremony  leads  her  bigots  forth, 
Prepared  to  fight  for  shadows  of  no  worth : 
While  truths,  on  which  eternal  things  depend, 
Find  not,  or  hardly  find,  a  single  friend  ; 
As  soldiers  watch  the  signal  of  command, 
They  learn  to  bow,  to  kneel,  to  sit,  to  stand  ; 
Happy  to  fill  Religion's  vacant  place 
With  hollow  form,  and  gesture,  arid  grimace. 

Such,  when  the  Teacher  of  his  church  was  there, 
People  and  priest,  the  sons  of  Israel  were  j 
Stiff  in  the  letter,  lax  ii  the  design 
And  import  of  their  oracles- divine  ; 
Their  learning  legendary,  false,  absurd, 
And  yet  exalted  above  God's  own  word  ; 
They  drew  a  curse  from  an  intended  good, 
Puffed  up  with  gifts  they  never  understood. 
He  judged  them  with  as  terrible  a  frown, 
As  if  not  love,  but  wrath,  had  brought  him  down  : 
Yet  he  was  gentle  as  soft  summer  airs, 
Had  grace  for  others7  sins,  but  none  for  theirs ; 
Through  all  he  spoke  a  noble  plainness  ran — 
Rhet'ric  is  artifice,  the  work  of  man  ; 
And  tricks  and  turns,  that  fancy  may  devise 


66  EXPOSTULATION. 

Are  far  too  mean  for  Him  that  rules  the  skies. 

Th'  astonished  vulgar  trembled  while  he  tore 

The  mask  from  faces  never  seen  before  ; 

He  stripped  th'  impostors  in  the  noonday  sun, 

Showed  that  they  followed  all  they  seemed  to  shun  • 

Their  pray'rs  made  public,  their  excesses  kept 

As  private  as  the  chambers  where  they  slept ; 

The  temple  and  its  holy  rites  profaned 

By  mumm'ries  he  that  dwelt  in  it  disdained  ; 

Uplifted  hands,  that  at  convenient  times 

Could  act  extortion  and  the  worst  of  crimes, 

Washed  with  a  neatness  scrupulously  nice, 

And  free  from  every  taint  but  that  of  vice. 

Judgment,  however  tardy,  mends  her  pace 

When  Obstinacy  once  has  conquered  Grace. 

They  saw  distemper  healed,  and  life  restored, 

In  answer  to  the  fiat  of  his  word ; 

Confessed  the  wonder,  and  with  daring  tongue 

Blasphemed  th'  authority  from  which  it  sprung. 

They  knew  by  sure  prognostics  seen  on  high, 

The  future  tone  and  temper  of  the  sky  ; 

But,  grave  dissemblers  could  not  understand 

That  Sin  let  loose  speaks  punishment  at  hand. 

Ask  now  of  history's  authentic  page, 
And  call  up  evidence  from  ev'ry  age  ; 
Display  with  busy  and  laborious  hand 
The  blessings  of  the  most  indebted  land ; 
What  nation  will  you  find  whose  annals  prove 
So  rich  an  interest  in  Almighty  love  ? 
Where  dwell  they  now,  where  dwelt  in  ancient  day 
A  people  planted,  watered,  blest  as  they  ? 
Let  Egypt's  plagues,  and  Canaan's  woes  proclaim 
The  favours  poured  upon  the  Jewish  name  ; 
Their  freedom  purchased  for  them  at  the  cost 
Of  all  their  hara  oppressor's  valued  most ; 
Their  title  to  a  country  not  their  own, 
Made  sure  by  prodigies  till  then  unknown ; 
For  them  the  states  they  left,  made  waste  and  void ; 


EXPOSTULATION.  67 

For  them  the  states  to  which  they  went,  destroyed ; 
A  cloud  to  measure  out  their  march  by  day, 
By  night  a  fire  to  cheer  the  gloomy  way  ; 
That  moving  signal  summoning,  when  best, 
Their  host  to  move,  and  when  it  stayed  to  rest. 
For  them  the  rocks  dissolved  into  a  flood, 
The  dews  condensed  into  angelic  food, 
Their  very  garments  sacred,  old  yet  new, 
And  Time  forbid  to  touch  them  as  he  flew ; 
Streams,  swelled  above  the  bank,  enjoined  to  stand, 
While  they  passed  through  to  their  appointed  land  ; 
Their  leader  armed  with  meekness,  zeal,  and  love, 
And  graced  with  clear  credentials  from  above  ; 
Themselves  secured  beneath  th'  Almighty  wing 
Their  God,  their  captain,*  lawgiver,  and  king  ; 
Crowned  with  a  thousand  vict'ries,  and  at  last 
Lords  of  the  conquered  soil,  there  rooted  fast, 
In  peace  possessing  what  they  won  by  war, 
Their  name  far  published,  and  revered  as  far ; 
Where  will  you  find  a  race  like  theirs,  endowed 
With  all  that  man  e'er  wished  or  Heaven  bestowed  ? 

They,  and  they  only,  amongst  all  mankind, 
Received  the  transcript  of  the  eternal  rnind ; 
Were  trusted  with  his  own  engraven  laws, 
And  constituted  guardians  of  his  cause ; 
Theirs  were  the  prophets,  theirs  the  priestly  call ; 
And  theirs  by  birth,  the  Saviour  of  us  all. 
In  vain  the  nations,  that  had  seen  them  rise 
With  fierce  and  envious  yet  admiring  eyes, 
Had  sought  to  crush  them,  guarded  as  they  were 
By  power  divine,  and  skill  that  could  not  err. 
Had  they  maintained  allegiance  firm  and  sure, 
And  kept  the  faith  immaculate  and  pure, 
Then  the  proud  eagles  of  all-conquering  Rome 
Had  found  one  city  not  to  be  o'ercome  ; 
And  the  twelve  standards  of  the  tribes  unfurled 
Had  bid  defiance  to  the  warring  world. 

*  Vide  Joshua  v.  14. 


68  EXPOSTULATION. 

But  grace  abused  brings  forth  the  foulest  deeds, 
As  richest  soil  the  most  luxuriant  weeds. 
Cured  of  the  golden  calves,  their  father's  sin, 
They  set  up  self,  that  idol  god  within ; 
Viewed  a  Deliverer  with  disdain  and  hate, 
Who  left  them  still  a  tributary  state  ; 
Seized  fast  his  hand,  held  out  to  set  them  free 
From  a  worse  yoke,  and  nailed  it  to  the  tree : 
There  was  the  consummation  arid  the  crown, 
The  flower  of  Israel's  infamy  full  blown  ; 
Thence  date  their  sad  declension  and  their  fall, 
Their  woes,  not  yet  repealed,  thence  date  them  all. 

Thus  fell  the  best  instructed  in  her  day, 
And  the  most  favoured  land,  look  where  we  may. 
Philosophy  indeed  on  Grecian  eyes 
Had  poured  the  day,  and  cleared  the  Roman  skies : 
In  other  climes  perhaps  creative  art, 
With  power  surpassing  theirs,  performed  her  part, 
Might  give  more  life  to  marble,  or  might  fill 
The  glowing  tablets  with  a  juster  skill, 
Might  shine  in  fable,  and  grace  idle  themes 
With  all  th*  embroidery  of  poetic  dreams; 
'Twas  theirs  alone  to  dive  into  the  plan, 
That  truth  and  mercy  had  revealed  to  man  ; 
And  while  the  world  beside,  that  plan  unknown, 
Deified  useless  wood,  or  senseless  stone, 
They  breathed  in  faith  their  well-directed  prayers. 
And  the  true  God,  the  God  of  truth,  was  theirs. 

Their  glory  faded,  and  their  race  dispersed, 
The  last  of  nations  now,  though  once  the  first ; 
They  warn  and  teach  the  proudest,  would  they  learn, 
Keep  wisdom,  or  meet  vengeance  in  your  turn  ; 
If  we  escaped  not,  if  Heaven  spared  not  us, 
Peeled,  scattered,  and  exterminated  thus  ; 
If  vice  received  her  retribution  due, 
When  we  were  visited,  what  hope  for  you  ? 
When  God  arises  with  an  awful  frown 
To  punish  lust,  or  pluck  presumption  down  : 


EXPOSTULATION.  60 

When  gifts  perverted,  or  not  duly  prized, 
Pleasures  overvalued,  and  his  grace  despised, 
Provoke  the  vengeance  of  his  righteous  hand, 
To  pour  down  wrath  upon  a  thankless  land ; 
He  will  be  found  impartially  severe, 
Too  just  to  wink,  or  speak  the  guilty  clear. 

Oh  Israel,  of  all  nations  most  undone ! 
Thy  diadem  displaced,  thy  sceptre  gone  ; 
Thy  temple,  once  thy  glory,  fallen  and  razed, 
And  thou  a  worshipper  e'en  where  thou  mayst; 
Thy  services,  once  holy,  without  a  spot, 
Mere  shadows  now,  their  ancient  pomp  forgot ; 
Thy  Levites,  once  a  consecrated  host, 
No  longer  Levites,  and  their  lineage  lest, 
And  thou  thyself  o'er  country  sown, 
With  none  on  earth  that  thou  canst  call  thine  own ; 
Cry  aloud,  thou  that  sittest  in  the  dust, 
Cry  to  the  proud,  the  cruel,  and  unjust ; 
Knock  at  the  gates  of  nations,  rouse  their  fears 
Say  wrath  is  corning,  and  the  storm  appears  j 
But  raise  the  shrillest  cry  in  British  ears. 

What  ails  thee,  restless  as  the  waves  that  roar, 
And  fling  their  foam  against  thy  chalky  shore  ? 
Mistress,  at  least  while  Providence  shall  please, 
And  trident-bearing  queen  of  the  wide  seas — 
Why,  having  kept^good  faith,  and  often  shown 
Friendship  and  truth  to  others,  find'st  thou  none  ? 
Thou  that  hast  set  the  persecuted  free, 
None  interposes  now  tD  succour  thee. 
Countries  indebted  to  thy  power,  that  shine 
With  light  derived  from  thee,  would  smother  thine : 
Thy  very  children  watch  for  thy  disgrace — 
A  lawless  brood,  and  curse  thee  to  thy  face. 
Thy  rulers  load  thy  credit,  year  by  year, 
With  sums  Peruvian  mines  could  never  clear ; 
As  if,  like  arches  built  with  skilful  hand, 
The  more  'twere  pressed  the  firmer  it  would  stand 

The  cry  in  all  thy  ships  is  still  the  same. 


70  EXPOSTULATION. 

Speed  us  away  to  battle  and  to  fame. 

Thy  mariners  explore  the  wild  expanse, 

Impatient  to  descry  the  flags  of  France ; 

But,  though  they  fight  as  thine  have  ever  fought, 

Return  ashamed  without  the  wreaths  they  sought- 

Thy  senate  is  a  scene  of  civil  jar, 

Chaos  of  contrarieties  at  war  ; 

Where  sharp  and  solid,  phlegmatic  and  light, 

Discordant  atoms  meet,  ferment,  and  fight ; 

Where  Obstinacy  takes  his  sturdy  stand. 

To  disconcert  what  Policy  has  planned  ; 

Where  Policy  is  busied  all  night  long 

In  setting  right  what  Faction  has  set  wrong ; 

Where  flails  of  oratory  thrash  the  floor, 

That  yields  them  chaff  and  dust,  and  nothing  more. 

Thy  racked  inhabitants  repine,  complain, 

Taxed  till  the  brow  of  Labour  sweats  in  vain, 

War  lays  a  burden  on  the  reeling  state, 

And  peace  does  nothing  to  relieve  the  weight 

Successive  loads  succeeding  broils  impose, 

And  sighing  millions  prophesy  the  close. 

Is  adverse  Providence,  when  pondered  well, 
So  dimly  writ,  or  difficult  to  spell, 
Thou  canst  not  read  with  readiness  and  ease 
Providence  adverse  in  events  like  these  ? 
Know  then  that  heavenly  wisdom  on  this  ball 
Creates,  gives  birth  to,  guides,  consummates  all. 
That  while  laborious  and  quick-thoughted  man 
Snuffs  up  the  praise  of  what  he  seems  to  plan, 
He  first  conceives,  then  perfects  his  design, 
As  a  mere  instrument  in  hands  divine : 
Blind  to  the  working  of  that  secret  power, 
That  balances  the  wings  of  every  hour, 
The  busy  trifler  dreams  himself  alone, 
Frames  many  a  purpose,  and  God  works  his  own. 
States  thrive  or  wither  as  moons  wax  and  wane, 
Even  as  his  will  and  his  decrees  ordain ; 
While  honour,  virtue,  piety,  bear  sway, 


EXPOSTULATION.  71 

They  flourish  ;  and  as  these  decline,  decay ; 

In  just  resentment  of  his  injured  laws, 

He  pours  contempt  on  them  and  on  their  cause  ; 

Strikes  the  rough  thread  of  error  right  athwart 

The  weh  of  every  scheme  they  have  at  heart ; 

Bids  rottenness  invade  and  bring  to  dust 

The  pillars  of  support,  in  which  they  trust, 

And  do  his  errand  of  disgrace  and  shame 

On  the  chief  strength  and  glory  of  the  frame. 

None  ever  yet  impeded  what  he  wrought, 

None  bars  him  out  from  his  most  secret  thought : 

Darkness  itself  before  his  eye  is  light, 

And  hell's  close  mischief  naked  in  his  sight. 

Stand  now  and  judge  thyself — Hast  thou  inci7 
His  anger,  who  can  waste  thee  with  a  word, 
Who  poises  and  proportions  sea  and  land, 
Weighing  them  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand, 
And  in  whose  awful  sight  all  nations  seem 
As  grasshoppers,  as  dust,  a  drop,  a  dream  ? 
Hast  thou  (a  sacrilege  his  soul  abhors) 
Claimed  all  the  glory  of  thy  prosperous  wars  ? 
Proufl  of  thy  fleets  and  armies,  stolen  the  gem 
Of  his  just  praise,  to  lavish  it  on  them  ? 
Hast  thou  not  learned,  what  thou  art  often  told, 
A  truth  still  sacred,  and  believed  of  old, 
That  no  success  attends  on  spears  and  swords 
Unblest,  and  that  the  battle  is  the  Lord's  ? 
That  courage  is  his  creature  ;  and  dismay 
The  post,  that  at  his  bidding  speeds  away, 
Ghastly  in  feature,  and  his  stammering  tongue 
With  doleful  humour  and  sad  presage  hung, 
To  quell  the  valour  of  the  stoutest  heart, 
And  teach  the  combatant  a  woman's  part  ? 
That  he  bids  thousands  fly  when  none  pursue, 
Saves  as  he  will  by  many  or  by  few, 
And  claims  for  ever,  as  his  royal  right. 
The  event  and  sure  decision  of  the  fight  ? 

Hast  thou  though  suckled  at  fair  Freedom's  breast, 


72  EXPOSTULATION. 

Exported  slavery  to  the  conquered  East  ? 

Pulled  down  the  tyrants  India  served  with  dread, 

And  raised  thyself,  a  greater,  in  their  stead  ? 

Gone  thither  armed  and  hungry,  returned  full, 

Fed  from  the  richest  veins  of  the  Mogul, 

A  despot  big  with  power  obtained  by  wealth, 

And  that  obtained  by  rapine  and  by  stealth  ? 

With  Asiatic  vices  stored  thy  mind, 

But  left  their  virtues  and  thine  own  behind  ? 

And,  having  trucked  thy  soul,  brought  home  the  fee 

To  tempt  the  poor  to  sell  himself  to  thee  ? 

Hast  thou  by  statute  showed  from  its  design 
The  Saviour's  feast,  his  own  blest  bread  and  wine, 
And  made  the  symbols  of  atoning  grace 
An  office-key,  a  picklock  to  a  place, 
That  infidels  may  prove  their  title  good 
By  an  oath  dipped  in  sacramental  blood  ? 
A  blot  that  will  be  still  a  blot  in  spite 
Of  all  that  grave  apologists  may  write  ; 
And  though  a  bishop  toil  to  cleanse  the  stain, 
He  wipes  and  scours  the  silver  cup  in  vain. 
And  hast  thou  sworn  on  every  slight  pretence,* 
Till  perjuries  are  common  as  bad  pence, 
While  thousands,  careless  of  the  damning  sin, 
Kiss  the  book's  outside,  who  ne'er  looked  within. 

Hast  thou,  when  Heaven  has  clothed  thee  with 

disgrace, 

(And,  long  provoked,  repaid  thee  to  thy  face, 
For  thou  hast  known  eclipses,  and  endured 
Dimness  and  anguish,  all  thy  beams  obscured, 
When  sin  had  shed  dishonor  on  thy  brow  ; 
And  never  of  a  sabler  hue  than  now,) 
Hast  thou,  with  heart  perverse  and  conscience  seared, 
Despising  all  rebuke,  still  persevered, 
And  having  chosen  evil,  scorned  the  voice 
That  cried,  Repent!  and  gloried  in  thy  choice  ? 
Thy  fastings,  when  calamity  at  last 
Suggests  the  expedient  of  a  yearly  fast 


EXPOSTULATION.  75 

What  mean  they?     Canst  thou  dream  there  is  a 

power 

In  lighter  diet  at  a  later  hour, 
To  charm  to  sleep  the  threatning  of  the  skies, 
And  hide  past  folly  from  all-seeing  eyes  ? 
The  fast,  that  wins  deliverance,  and  suspends 
The  stroke  that  a  vindictive  God  intends, 
Is  to  renounce  hypocrisy  ;  to  Jraw 
Thy  life  upon  the  pattern  of  the  law  ; 
To  war  with  pleasure,  idolized  before  j 
To  vanquish  lust,  and  wear  its  yoke  no  more. 
All  fasting  else,  whate'er  be  the  pretence, 
Is  wooing  mercy  by  renewed  offence. 

Hast  thou  within  the  sin,  that  in  old  time 
Brought  fire  from  Heaven,  the  sex-abusing  crime, 
Whose  horrid  perpetration  stamps  disgrace, 
Baboons  are  free  from,  upon  human  race  1 
Think  on  the  fruitful  and  well-watered  spot, 
That  fed  the  flocks  and  herds  of  wealthy  Lot, 
Where  Paradise  seemed  still  vouchsafed  on  earth, 
Burning  and  scorched  into  perpetual  dearth, 
Or,  in  his  words  who  damned  the  base  desire, 
Suffering  the  vengeance  of  eternal  fire  : 
Then  nature  injured,  scandalized,  defiled, 
Unveiled  her  blushing  cheek,  looked  on,  and  smiled  ; 
Beheld  with  joy  the  lovely  scene  defaced, 
And  praised  the  wrath,  that  laid  her  beauties  waste. 

Far  be  the  thought  from  any  verse  of  mine, 
And  farther  still  the  formed  and  fixed  design, 
To  thrust  the  charge  of  deeds  that  I  detest,  * 
Against  an  innocent,  unconscious  breast. 
The  man  that  dares  traduce,  because  he  cart 
With  safety  to  himself,  is  not  a  man : 
An  individual  is  a  sacred  mark, 
Not  to  be  pierced  in  play,  or  in  the  dark ; 
But  public  censure  speaks  a  public  foe, 
Unless  a  zeal  for  virtue  guide  the  blow. 

The  priestly  brotherhood,  devout,  sincere, 
7 


74  E  X  P  O  S  T  U  L  A  T  I  O  X . 

From  mean  self-interest  and  ambition  clear, 
Their  hope  in  heaven,  servility  their  scorn, 
Prompt  to  persuade,  expostulate,  and  warn, 
Their  wisdom  pure,  and  given  them  from  above, 
Their  usefulness  ensured  by  zeal  and  love, 
As  meek  as  the  man  Moses,  and  withal 
As  bold  as  in  Agrippa's  presence  Paul, 
Should  fly  the  world's  contaminating  touch, 
Holy  and  unpolluted : — are  thine  such  ? 
Except  a  i'.-iw  with  Eli's  spirit  blest, 
Hophni  and  Phineas  may  describe  the  rest. 

Where  shall  a  teacher  look,  in  days  like  these, 
For  ears  and  hearts,  that  he  can  hope  to  please  ? 
Look  to  the  poor — the  simple  and  the  plain 
Will  hear  perhaps  thy  salutary  strain  : 
Humility  is  gentle,  apt  to  learn, 
Speak  but  the  word,  will  listen  and  return. 
Alas,  not  so  !  the  poorest  of  the  flock 
Are  proud,  and  set  their  faces  as  a  rock  ; 
Denied  that  earthly  opulence  they  choose, 
God's  better  gift  they  scoff  at  and  refuse. 
The  rich,  the  produce  of  a  nobler  stem, 
Are  more  intelligent  at  least — try  them. 
Oh  vain  inquiry !  they  without  remorse 
Are  altogether  gone  a  devious  course ; 
Where  beck'ning  Pleasure  leads  them,  wildly  stray ; 
Have  burst  the  bands,  and  cast  the  yoke  away. 

Now  borne  upon  the  wings  of  truth  sublime, 
Review  thy  dim  original  and  prime. 
This  island,  spot  of  unreclaimed  rude  earth, 
The  cradle  that  received  thee  at  thy  birth, 
Was  rocked  by  many  a  rough  Norwegian  blast, 
And  Danish  bowlings  scared  thee  as  they  passed ; 
For  thou  wast  born  amid  the  din  of  arms, 
And  sucked  a  breast  that  panted  with  alarms. 
While  yet  thou  wast  a  groveling  puling  chit, 
Thy  bones  riot  fashioned,  and  thy  joints  not  knit, 
The  Roman  taught  thy  stubborn  knee  to  bow. 


EXPOSTULATION.  75 

Though  twice  a  Caesar  could  not  bend  thee  now. 
His  victory  was  that  of  orient  light, 
When  the  sun's  shafts  disperse  the  gloom  of  night. 
Thy  language  at  this  distant  moment  shows 
How  much  the  country  to  the  conqueror  owes  ? 
Expressive,  energetic,  and  refined, 
It  sparkles  with  the  gems  he  left  behind  ; 
He  brought  thy  land  a  blessing  when  he  came, 
He  found  thee  savage,  and  he  left  thee  tame  ; 
Taught  thee  to  clothe  thy  pinked  and  painted  hide. 
And  grace  thy  figure  with  a  soldier's  pride. 
He  sowed  the  seeds  of  order  where  he  went, 
Improved  thee  far  beyond  his  own  intent, 
And,  while  he  ruled  thee  by  the  sword  alone, 
Made  thee  at  last  a  warrior  like  his  own. 
Religion,  if  in  heavenly  truths  attired, 
Needs  only  to  be  seen  to  be  admired  ; 
But  thine,  as  dark  as  witcheries  of  the  night, 
Was  formed  to  harden  hearts  and  shock  the  sight ; 
Thy  Druids  struck  the  well-hung  harps  they  bore 
With  fingers  deeply  died  in  human  gore  ; 
And  while  the  victim  slowly  bled  to  death, 
Upon  the  rolling  chords  rung  out  his  dying  breath. 
Who   brought  the  lamp,   that  with   awakening 

beams 

Dispelled  thy  gloom,  and  broke  away  thy  dreams, 
Tradition  now  decrepit  and  worn  out, 
Babbler  of  ancient  fables,  leaves  a  doubt : 
But  still  light  reached  thee  ;  and  those  gods  of  thine, 
Woderi  and  Thor,  each  tottering  in  his  shrine, 
Fell  broken  and  defaced  at  his  own  door, 
As  Dagon  in  Philistia  long  before. 
But  Rome,  with  sorceries  and  magic  wand, 
Scon  raised  a  cloud  that  darkened  every  land ; 
And  thine  was  smothered  in  the  stench  and  fog 
Of  Tiber's  marshes  and  the  papal  bog. 
Then    priests,   with  bulls  and   briefs,   and  shaven 

crowns, 


76  EXPOSTULATION.  , 

And  griping  fists,  and  unrelenting  frowns, 

Legates  and  delegates  with  powers  from  hell, 

Though  heavenly  in  pretension,  fleeced  thee  well ; 

And  to  this  hour,  to  keep  it  fresh  in  mind, 

Some  twigs  of  that  old  scourge  are  left  behind.* 

The  soldiery,  the  Pope's  well-managed  pack, 

Were  trained  beneath  his  lash,  and  knew  the  smack  ; 

And,  when  he  laid  them  on  the  scent  of  blood, 

Would  hunt  a  Saracen  through  fire  and  flood. 

Lavish  of  life  to  win  an  empty  tomb, 

That  proved  a  mint  of  wealth,  a  mine  to  Rome, 

They  left  their  bones  beneath  unfriendly  skies, 

His  worthless  absolution  all  the  prize. 

Thou  wast  the  veriest  slave  in  days  of  yore, 

That  ever  dragged  a  chain  or  tugged  an  oar  ; 

Thy  monarchs  arbitrary,  fierce,  unjust, 

Themselves  the  slaves  of  bigotry  or  lust, 

Disdained  thy  counsels,  only  in  distress 

Found  thee  a  goodly  sponge  for  power  to  press, 

Thy  chiefs,  the  lords  of  many  a  petty  fee, 

Provoked  and  harassed,  in  return  plagued  thee ; 

Called  thee  away  from  peaceable  employ, 

Domestic  happiness  and  rural  joy, 

To  waste  thy  life  in  arms,  or  lay  it  down 

In  causeless  feuds  and  bickerings  of  their  own. 

Thy  parliaments  adored  on  bended  knees 

The  sovereignty  they  were  convened  to  please  ; 

Whate'er  was  asked,  too  timid  to  resist, 

Complied  with,  and  were  graciously  dismissed  ; 

And  if  some  Spartan  soul  a  doubt  expressed, 

And,  blushing  at  the  tameness  of  the  rest, 

Dared  to  suppose  the  subject  had  a  choice, 

He  was  a  traitor  by  the  general  voice. 

O  slave  !  with  powers  thou  didst  riot  dare  exert, 

Verse  cannot  stoop  so  low  as  thy  desert ; 

It  shakes  the  sides  of  splenetic  Disdain, 

Thou  self-entitled  ruler  of  the  main, 

*  Which  may  be  found  at  Doctors'  Commons. 


EXPOSTULATION.  77 

To  trace  thee  to  the  date  when  yon  fair  sea, 
That  clips  thy  shores,  had  no  such  charms  for  thee ; 
When  other  nations  flew  from  coast  to  coast, 
And  thou  hast  neither  fleet  nor  flag  to  boast. 

Kneel  now,  and  lay  thy  forehead  in  the  dust ; 
Blush,  if  thou  canst ;  not  petrified,  thou  must : 
Act  but  an  honest  and  a  faithful  part ; 
Compare  what  then  thou  wast  with  what  thou  art; 
And  God's  disposing  providence  confessed, 
Obduracy  itself  must  yield  the  rest — 
Then  thou  art  bound  to  serve  him,  and  to  prove, 
Hour  after  hour,  thy  gratitude  and  love. 

Has  he  not  bid  thee,  and  thy  favoured  land, 
For  ages  safe  beneath  his  sheltering  hand, 
Given  thee  his  blessing  on  the  clearest  proof, 
Bid  nations  leagued  against  thee  stand  aloof, 
And  charged  Hostility  and  Hate  to  roar  f  * , 

Where  else  they  would,  but  not  upon  thy  shore  ? 
His  power  secured  thee  when  presumptuous  Spain, 
Baptized  her  fleet  invincible  in  vain  ; 
Her  gloomy  monarch,  doubtful  and  resigned 
To  every  pang  that  racks  an  anxious  mind, 
Asked  of  the  waves,  that  broke  upon  his  coast, 
What  tidings  ?  and  the  surge  replied — All  lost ! 
And  when  the  Stuart  leaning  on  the  Scot, 
Then  too  much  feared,  and  now  to  much  forgot, 
Pierced  to  the  very  centre  of  the  realm, 
And  hoped  to  seize  his  abdicated  helm, 
'Twas  but  to  prove  how  quickly  with  a  frown 
He  that  had  raised  thee  could  have  plucked  thee  down. 
Peculiar  is  the  grace  by  thee  possessed, 
Thy  foes  implacable,  thy  land  at  rest ; 
Thy  thunders  travel  over  earth  and  seas, 
And  all  at  home  is  pleasure,  wealth,  and  ease. 
'Tis  thus,  extending  his  tempestuous  arm, 
Thy  Maker  fills  the  nation  with  alarm, 
While  his  own  Heaven  surveys  the  troubled  scene, 
And  feels  no  change,  unshaken  and  serene 


78  EXPOSTULATION. 

Freedom,  in  other  lands  scarce  known  to  shine, 
Pours  out  a  flood  of  splendour  upon  thine ; 
Thou  hast  as  bright  an  interest  in  her  rays 
As  ever  Roman  had  in  Rome's  best  days. 
True  freedom  is  where  no  restraint  is  known, 
That  Scripture,  justice,  and  good  sense  disown, 
Where  only  vice  and  injury  are  tied, 
And  all  from  shore  to  shore  is  free  beside. 
Such  freedom  is — and  Windsor's  hoary  towers 
Stood  trembling  at  the  boldness  of  thy  powers, 
That  won  a  nymph  on  that  immortal  plain 
Like  her  the  fabled  Phoebus  wooed  in  vain  ; 
He  found  the  laurel  only — happier  you 
T.h'  unfading  laurel,  and  the  virgin  too  !* 

Now  think,  if  Pleasure  have  a  thought  to  spare, 
If  God  himself  be  not  beneath  her  care ; 
If  business,  constant  as  the  wheels  of  time. 
Can  pause  an  hour  to  read  a  serious  rhyme ; 
If  the  new  mail  thy  merchants  now  receive, 
Or  expectation  of  the  next,  give  leave ; 
Oh  think  !  if  chargeable  with  deep  arrears 
For  such  indulgence  gilding  all  thy  years, 
How  much,  though  long  neglected,  shining  yet, 
The  beams  of  heavenly  truth  have  swelled  the  debt. 
When  persecuting  zeal  made  royal  sport 
With  tortured  innocence  in  Mary's  court, 
And  Bonner,  blithe  as  shepherd  at  a  wake 
Enjoyed  the  show,  and  danced  about  the  stake 
The  sacred  Book,  its  value  understood, 
Received  the  seal  of  martyrdom  in  blood. 
Those  holy  men,  so  full  of  truth  and  grace, 
Seem  to  reflection  of  a  different  race  ; 
Meek,  modest,  venerable,  wise,  sincere, 
In  such  a  cause  they  could  not  dare  to  fear ; 
They  could  not  purchase  earth  with  such  a  prize, 
Or  spare  a  life  too  short  to  reach  the  skies. 

*  Alluding  to  the  grant  of  Magna  Charta,  which  was  extorted  from 
King  John  by  the  barons  at  Runnvmede  near  Windsor. 


EXPOSTULATION.  79 

Fiom  them  to  thee  conveyed  along-  the  tide, 

Their  streaming  hearts  poured  freely  when  they  died  j 

Those  truths,  which  neither  use  nor  years  impair, 

fnvite  thee,  woo  thee,  to  the  bliss  they  share. 

What  dotage  will  not  vanity  maintain  ? 

What  web  too  weak  to  catch  a  modern  brain  ? 

The  moles  and  bats  in'full  assembly  find, 

On  special  search,  the  keen-eyed  eagle  blind. 

And  did  they  dream,  and  art  thou  wiser  now? 

Prove  it — if  better,  I  submit  and  bow. 

Wisdom  and  goodness  are  twin-born,  one  heart 

Must  hold  both  sisters,  never  seen  apart. 

So  then — as  darkness  overspread  the  deep, 

Ere  Nature  rose  from  her  eternal  sleep, 

And  this  delightful  earth,  and  that  fair  sky, 

Leaped  out  of  nothing,  called  by  the  Most  High  ; 

By  such  a  change  thy  darkness  is  made  light, 

Thy  chaos  order,  and  thy  weakness  might ; 

And  He,  whose  power  mere  nullity  obeys, 

Who  found  thee  nothing,  formed  thee  for  his  praise. 

To  praise  him  is  to  serve  him,  and  fulfil, 

Doing  and  suffering,  his  unquestioned  will ; 

JTis  to  believe  what  men  inspired  of  old, 

Faithful,  and  faithfully  informed,  unfold ; 

Candid  and  just,  with  no  false  aim  in  view, 

To  take  for  truth,  what  cannot  be  but  true ; 

To  learn  in  God's  own  school  the  Christian  part, 

And  bind  the  task  assigned  thee  to  thy  heart : 

Happy  the  man  there  seeking  and  there  found, 

Happy  the  nation  where  such  men  abound. 

How  shall  a  verse  impress  thee  ?  by  what  name 
Shall  I  adjure  thee  not 'to  court  thy  shame? 
By  theirs,  whose  bright  example  unimpeached, 
Directs  thee  to  that  eminence  they  reached, 
Heroes  and  worthies  of  days  past,  thy  sires  1 
Or  his,  who  touched  their  hearts  with  hallowed  fires 
Their  names,  alas  !  in  vain  reproach  an  age, 
Whom  all  the  vanities  they  scorned  engage  ! 


80  EXPOSTULATION. 

And  His,  tnat  seraphs  tremble  at,  is  hung 
Disgracefully  on  every  trifler's  tongue, 
Or  serves  the  champion  in  forensic  war, 
To  flourish  and  parade  with  at  the  bar. 
Pleasure  herself  perhaps  suggests  a  plea, 
If  interest  move  thee,  to  persuade  e'en  thee ; 
By  every  charm  that  smiles  upon  her  face, 
By  joys  possessed,  and  joys  still  held  in  chase, 
If  dear  society  be  worth  a  thought, 
And  if  the  feast  of  freedom  cloy  thee  not, 
Reflect  that  these,  and  all  that  seem  thine  own, 
Held  by  the  tenure  of  his  will  alone, 
Like  angels  in  the  service  of  their  Lord, 
Remain  with  thee,  or  leave  thee  at  his  word ; 
That  gratitude  and  temperance  in  our  use 
Of  what  he  gives,  unsparing  and  profuse, 
Secure  the  favour,  and  enhance  the  joy, 
That  thankless  waste  and  wild  abuse  destroy. 
But  above  all  reflect,  how  cheap  so'er 
Those  rights,  that  millions  envy  thee,  appear, 
And,  though  resolved  to  risk  them,  and  swim  down 
The  tide  of  pleasure,  heedless  of  His  frown, 
That  blessings  truly  sacred,  and  when  given 
Marked  with  the  signature  and  stamp  of  heaven, 
The  word  of  prophecy,  those  truths  divine, 
Which  make  that  Heaven,  if  thou  desire  it,  thine. 
(Awful  alternative  !  believed,  beloved, 
Thy  glory,  and  thy  shame  if  unimproved,) 
Are  never  long  vouchsafed,  if  pushed  aside 
With  cold  disgust  or  philosophic  pride  ! 
And  that,  judicially  withdrawn,  disgrace, 
Error,  and  darkness  occupy  their  place. 

A  world  is  up  in  arms,  and  thou,  a  spot 
Not  quickly  found,  if  negligently  sought, 
Thy  soul  as  ample  as  thy  bounds  are  small, 
Endures  the  brunt,  and  darest  defy  them  all 
And  wilt  thou  join  to  this  bold  enterprise 
A  bolder  still,  a  contest  with  the  skies  ? 


.    EXPOSTULATION.  81 

Remember,  if  He  guard  thee  and  secure, 

Who'er  assails  thee,  thy  success  is  sure  ; 

But  if  He  leave  thee,  though  the  skill  and  power 

Of  nations  sworn  to  spoil  thee  and  devour, 

Were  all  collected  in  thy  single  arm, 

And  thou  couldst  laugh  away  the  fear  of  harm, 

That  strength  would  fail,  opposed  against  the  push 

Arid  feeble  "onset  of  a  pigmy  rush. 

Say  not  (and  if  the  thought  of  such  defence 
Should  spring  within  thy  bosom,  drive  it  thence) 
What  nation  amongst  all  my  foes  is  free 
From  crimes  as  base  as  any  charged  on  me  / 
Their  measure  filled,  they  too  shall  pay  the  debt, 
Which  God,  though  long  forborne,  will  not  forget. 
But  know  what  wrath  divine,  when  most  severe 
Makes  justice  still  the  guide  of  his  career, 
And  will  not  punish,  in  one  mingled  crowd, 
Them  without  light,  and  thee  without  a  cloud. 

Muse,  hang  this  harp  upon  yon  aged  beach, 
Still  murmuring  with  the  solemn  truths  I  teach ; 
And  while  at  intervals  a  cold  blast  sings 
Through  the  dry  leaves,  and  pants  upon  the  strings, 
My  soul  shall  sigh  in  secret,  and  lament 
A  nation  scourged,  yet  tardy  to  repent. 
I  know  the  warning  song  is  sung  in  vain  ; 
That  few  will  hear,  and  fewer  heed  the  strain ; 
But  if  a  sweeter  voice,  and  one  designed 
A  blessing  to  my  country  and  mankind, 
Reclaim  the  wandering  thousands,  and  bring  homo 
A  flock  so  scattered  and  so  wont  to  roam, 
Then  place  it  once  again  between  my  knees ; 
The  sound  of  truth  will  then  be  sure  to  please : 
And  truth  alone,  where'er  my  life  be  cast, 
In  scenes  of  plenty,  or  the  pining  waste, 
Shall  be  my  chosen  theme,  my  glory  to  the  last 


82  %HOPK. 

HOPE. 

.  .  .  aoceas  iter,  et  sacra  ostia  pandas. Vtrg   ISn.  8, 

ASK  what  is  human  life — the  sage  replies, 
With  disappointment  lowering  in  his  eyes, 
A  painful  passage  o'er  a  restless  flood, 
A  vain  pursuit  of  fugitive  false  good, 
A  scene  of  fancied  bliss  and  heart-felt  care, 
Closing  at  last  in  darkness  and  despair. 
The  poor  inured  to  drudgery  and  distress, 
Act  without  aim,  think  little,  and  feel  less, 
And  nowhere,  but  in  feigned  Arcadian  scenes, 
Taste  happiness,  or  know  what  pleasure  means. 
Riches  are  passed  away  from  hand  to  hand, 
As  fortune,  vice,  or  folly  may  command  ; 
As  in  a  dance  the  pair  that  take  the  lead 
Turn  downward,  arid  the  lowest  pair  succeed, 
So  shifting  and  so  various  is  the  plan, 
By  which  heaven  rules  the  mixed  affairs  of  man; 
Vicissitude  wheels  round  the  motley  crowd, 
The  rich  grow  poor,  the  poor  become  purse-proud ; 
Business  is  labour,  and  man's  weakness  such, 
Pleasure  is  labour  too,  and  tires  as  much. 
The  very  sense  of  it  foregoes  its  use, 
By  repetition  palled,  by  age  obtuse. 
Youth  lost  in  dissipation  we  deplore, 
Through  life's  sad  remnant,  what  no  sighs  restore  5 
Our  years,  a  fruitless  race  without  a  prize, 
Too  many,  yet  too  few  to  make  us  wise. 

Dangling  his  cane  Jxmt,  and  taking  snuff, 
Lothario  cries,  What  philosophic  stuff — 
O  querulous  and  weak  ! — whose  useless  brain 
Once  thought  of  nothing,  and  now  thinks  in  vain ; 
Whose  eyes  reverted  weep  o'er  all  the  past, 
Whose  prospect  shows  thee  a  disheartening  waste 
Would  age  in  thee  resign  his  wintry  reign, 


rlOi'K.  S3 

And  youth  invigorate  that  frame  again, 
Renewed  desire  would  grace  with  other  speech, 
Joys  always  prized,  when  placed  within  our  reach. 

For  lift  thy  palsied  head,  shake  off  the  gloom 
That  overhangs  the  borders  of  thy  tomb, 
See  Nature  gay,  as  when  she  first  began, 
With  smiles  alluring  her  admirer  man  ; 
She  spreads  the  morning  over  eastern  hills, 
Earth  glitters  with  the  drops  the  night  distils  ; 
The  Sun  obedient  at  her  call  appears, 
To  fling  his  glories  o'er  the  robe  she  wears  ; 
Banks  clothed  with  flowers,  groves  filled  with  spright 

ly  sounds, 

The  yellow  .tilth,  green  meads,  rocks,  rising  grounds, 
Streams  edged  with  osiers,  fattening  every  field, 
Where'er  they  flow,  now  seen  and  now  concealed  ; 
From  the  blue  rim,  where  skies  and  mountains  meet. 
Down  to  the  very  turf  beneath  thy  feet, 
Ten  thousand  charms,  that  only  fools  despise, 
Or  pride  can  look  at  with  indifferent  eyes, 
All  speak  one  language,  all  with  one  sweet  voice 
Cry  to  her  universal  realm,  Rejoice  ! 
Man  feels  the  spur  of  passions  and  desires, 
And  she  gives  largely  more  than  he  requires 
Not  that  his  hours  devoted  all  to  Care, 
Hollow-eyed  Abstinence,  and  lean  Despair, 
The  wretch  may  pine,  while  to  his  smell,  taste,  sight, 
She  holds  a  paradise  of  rich  delight ; 
But  gently  to  rebuke  his  awkward  feai, 
To  prove  that  what  she  gives,  she  gives  sincere ; 
To  banish  hesitation,  and  proclaim 
His  happiness,  her  dear,  her  only  aim. 
Tis  grave  philosophy's  absurdest  dream, 
That  Heaven's  intentions  are  not  what  they  seem. 
That  only  shadows  are  dispensed  below, 
And  earth  has  no  reality  but  wo. 

Thus  things  terrestrial  wear  a  different  hue, 
As  youth  or  age  persuades ;  and  neither  true. 


84  HOPE. 

So  Flora's  wreath  through  coloured  crystal  seen, 
The  rose  or  lily  appears  blue  or  green, 
But  still  th'  imputed  tints  are  those  alone 
The  medium  represents,  and  not  their  own. 

To  rise  at  noon,  sit  slipshod  and  undressed, 
To  read  the  news,  or  fiddle,  as  seems  best, 
Till  half  the  workl  comes  rattling  at  his  door, 
To  fill  the  dull  vacuity  till  four ; 
And,  just  when  evening  turns  the  blue  vault  gray, 
To  spend  two  hours  in  dressing  for  the  day ; 
To  make  the  sun  a  bauble  without  use, 
Save  for  the  fruits  his  heavenly  beams  produce ; 
Quite  to  forget,  or  deem  it  worth  no  thought, 
Who  bids  him  shine,  or  if  he  shine  or  not ; 
Through  mere  necessity  to  close  his  eyes 
Just  when  the  larks  aud  when  the  shepherds  rise , 
Is  such  a  life,  so  tediously  the  same, 
So  void  of  all  utility  or  aim, 
That  poor  Jonquil,  with  almost  every  breath 
Sighs  for  his  exit,  vulgarly  called  death  ; 
For  he,  with  all  his  follies,  has  a  mind 
Not  yet  so  blank,  or  fashionably  blind 
But  now  and  then  perhaps  a  feeble  ray 
Of  distant  wisdom  shoots  across  his  way, 
By  which  he  reads,  that  life  without  a  plan, 
As  useless  as  the  moment  it  began 
Serves  merely  as  a  soil  for  discontent 
To  thrive  in  ;  an  encumbrance  ere  half  spent  j 
Oh  weariness  beyond  what  asses  feel, 
That  tread  the  circuit  of  the  cistern  wheel; 
A  dull  rotation,  never  at  a  stay, 
Yesterday's  face  twin  image  of  to-day ; 
While  conversation,  an  exhausted  stock, 
Grows  drowsy  as  the  clicking  of  a  clock. 
No  need,  he  cries,  of  gravity  stuffed  out 
With  academic  dignity  devout, 
To  read  wise  lectures,  vanity  the  text : 
Proclaim  tiie  remedy,  ye  learned,  next 


!  J  O  P  K.  85 

For  truth  self-evident,  with  pomp  impressed, 
Is  vanity  surpassing  all  the  rest. 

That  remedy,  not  hid  in  deeps  profound, 
Yet  seldom  sought  where  only  to  be  found, 
While  poison  turns  aside  from  its  due  scope 
TV  inquirer's  aim,  that  remedy  is  hope. 
Life  is  His  gift,  from  whom  whate'er  life  needj, 
With  every  good  and  perfect  gift,  proceeds ; 
Bestowed  on  man,  lik<>  all  that  we  partake, 
Royally,  freely,  for  his  bounty's  sake ; 
Transient  indeed,  as  is  the  fleeting  hour, 
And  yet  the  seed  of  an  immortal  flower ; 
Designed  in  honour  of  his  endless  love, 
To  fill  with  fragrance  his  abode  above ; 
No  trifle,  howsoever  short  it  seem, 
And,  howsoever  shadowy,  no  dream  ! 
Its  value,  what  no  thought  can  ascertain, 
Nor  all  an  angel's  eloquence  explain  ; 
Men  deal  with  life  as  children  with  their  play, 
Who  first  misuse,  then  cast  their  toys  away  ; 
Live  to  no  sober  purpose,  and  contend 
That  their  Creator  had  no  serious  end. 
When  God  and  man  stand  opposite  in  view, 
Man's  disappointment  must  of  course  ensue. 
The  just  Creator  condescends  to  write, 
In  beams  of  inextinguishable  light, 
His  names  of  wisdom,  goodness,  power,  and  love, 
On  all  that  blooms  below,  or  shines  above ; 
To  catch  the  wandering  notice  of  mankind, 
And  teach  the  world,  if  not  perversely  blind, 
His  gracious  attributes,  and  prove  the  share 
His  offspring  hold  in  his  paternal  care. 
If,  led  from  earthly  things  to  things  divine, 
His  creature  thwart  not  his  august  design, 
Then  praise  is  heard  instead  of  reasoning  pride, 
And  captious  cavil  and  complaint  subside. 
Nature,  employed  in  her  allotted  place, 
Is  hand- ma  id  to  the  purposes  of  Grace ; 


86  HOPF. 

By  good  vouchsafed  makes  known  superior  good, 
And  bliss  not  seen  by  blessings  understood  : 
That  bliss,  revealed  in  Scripture,  with  a  glow 
Bright  as  the  covenant -ensuring  bow, 
Fires  all  his  feelings  with  a  noble  scorn 
Of  sensual  evil,  and  thr  s  Hope  is  born.  , 

Hope  sets  the  stamp  of  vanity  on  all 
That  men  have  deemed  substantial  since  the  fall, 
Yet  has  the  wondrous  virtue  to  educe 
From  emptiness  itself  a  real  use  ; 
And  while  she  takes,  as  at  a  father's  hand 
What  health  and  sober  appetite  demand, 
From  fading  good  derives,  with  chymic  art, 
That  lasting  happiness,  a  thankful  heart. 
Hope,  with  uplifted  foot  set  free  from  earth, 
Pants  for  the  place  of  her  etherial  birth, 
On  steady  wings  sails  through  th'  immense  abyss.. 
Plucks  amaranthine  joys  from  bowers  of  bliss, 
And  crowns  the  soul,  while  yet  a  mourner  here, 
With  wreaths  like  those  triumphant  spirits  wear. 
Hope,  as  an  anchor  firm  and  sure,  holds  fast 
The  Christian  vessel,  and  defies  the  blast. 
Hope  !  nothing  else  can  nourish  and  secure 
His  new-born  virtues,  and  preserve  him  pure. 
Hope  !  let  the  wretch,  once  conscious  of  the  joy, 
Whom  now  despairing  agonies  destroy, 
Speak,  for  he  can,  and  none  so  well  as  he, 
What  treasures  centre,  what  delights  in  thee. 
Had  he  the  gems,  the  spices,  arid  the  land 
That  boasts  the  treasure,  all  at  his  command  ; 
The  fragrant  grove,  th'  inestimable  mine, 
Were  light,  when  weighed  against  one  smile  of  thin<5. 

Though,  clasped  arid  cradled  in  his  nurse's  amis. 
He  shines  with  all  a  cherub's  artless  charms, 
Man  is  the  genuine  offspring  of  revolt, 
Stubborn  and  sturdy,  as  a  wild  ass'  colt ; 
His  passions,  like  the  watery  stores  that  sleep 
Beneath  the  smiling  surface  of  the  de<?p, 


HOPE.  87 

\\dit  but  the  lashes  of  a  wintry  storm, 

To  frown  and  roar,  and  shake  his  feeble  form. 

From  infancy  through  childhood's  giddy  maze, 

Froward  at  school,  and  fretful  in  his  plays, 

The  puny  tyrant  burns  to  subjugate 

The  free  republic  of  the  whip-gig  state. 

If  one,  his  equal  in  athletic  frame, 

Or,  more  provoking  still,  of  nobler  name, 

Dare  step  across  his  arbitrary  views, 

An  Iliad,  only  not  in  verse,  ensues  : 

The  little  Greeks  look  trembling  at  the  scales, 

Till  the  best  tongue,  or  heaviest  hand,  prevails. 

Now  see  him  launched  into  the  world  at  larger ; 
If  priest,  supinely  droning  o'er  his  charge, 
Their  fleece  his  pillow,  and  his  weekly  drawl, 
Though  short,  too  long,  the  price  he  pays  for  all. 
If  lawyer,  loud,  whatever  cause  he  plead, 
But  proudest  of  the  worst,  if  that  succeed. 
Perhaps  a  grave  phvsician,  gathering  fees, 
Punctually  paid  for  lengthening  out  disease  ; 
No  COTTON,  whose  humanity  sheds  rays, 
That  make  superior  skill  his  second  praise. 
If  arms  engage  him,  he  devotes  to  sport 
His  date  of  life,  so  likely  to  be  short ; 
A  soldier  may  be  any  thing,  if  brave, 
So  may  a  tradesman,  if  not  quite  a  knave. 
Such  stuff  the  world  is  made  of;  and  mankind 
To  passion,  interest,  pleasure,  whim  resigned, 
Insist  on,  as  if  each  were  his  own  pope, 
Forgiveness,  and  the  privilege  of  hope. 
But  Conscience,  in  some  awful  silent  hour, 
When  captivating  lusts  have  lost  their  power, 
Perhaps  when  sickness,  or  some  fearful  dream, 
Reminds  him  of  religion,  hated  theme  ! 
Starts  from  the  down,  on  which  she  lately  slept, 
And  tells  of  laws  despised,  at  least  not  kept : 
Shows  with  a  pointing  finger,  but  no  noise, 
A  pale  procession  of  past  sinful  joys, 


98  HOPE. 

All  witnesses  of  blessings  foully  scorned, 

And  life  abused,  and  not  to  be  suborned. 

Mark  these,  she  says  ;  these  summoned  from  afa* 

Begin  their  march  to  meet  thee  at  the  bar  ; 

There  find  a  Judge  inexorably  just, 

And  perish  there,  as  all  presumption  must. 

Peace  be  to  those  (such  peace  as  Earth  can  give) 
Who  live  in  pleasure,  dead  e'en  while  they  live  • 
Born  capable  indeed  of  heavenly  truth  ; 
But  down  to  latest  age,  from  earliest  youth 
Their  mind  a  wilderness  through  want  of  care, 
The  plough  of  wisdom  never  entering  there. 
Peace,  (if  insensibility  may  claim 
A  right  to  the  meek  honours  of  her  name) 
To  men  of  pedigree,  their  noble  race, 
Emulous  always  of  the  nearest  place 
To  any  throne,  except  the  throne  of  Grace. 
Let  cottagers  and  unenlightened  swains 
Revere  the  laws  they  dream  that  Heaven  ordains : 
Resort  on  Sundays  to  the  house  of  prayer 
And  ask,  and  fancy  they  find  blessings  there 
Themselves,  perhaps,  when  weary  they  retreat 
T'  enjoy  cool  nature  in  a  country  seat, 
T'  exchange  the  centre  of  a  thousand  trades, 
For  clumps,  and  lawns,  and  temples,  and  cascade* 
May  now  and  then  their  velvet  cushions  take, 
And  seem  to  pray  for  good  example's  sake  ; 
Judging,  in  charity  no  doubt,  the  town 
Pious  enough,  and  having  need  of  none. 
Kind  souls  !  to  teach  their  tenantry  to  prize 
What  they  themselves,  without  remorse,  despise  ; 
Nor  hope  have  they,  nor  fear,  of  ought  to  come, 
As  well  for  them  had  prophecy  been  dumb ; 
They  could  have  held  the  conduct  they  pursue, 
Had  Paul  of  Tarsus  lived  and  died  a  Jew ; 
And  truth,  proposed  to  reasoners  wise  as  they 
Is  a  pearl  cast — completely  cast  away. 

They  die — Death  lends  them,  pleased,  and  as  in 
sport 


ROPE.  89 

All  the  grim  honoris  of  his  ghastly  couit. 
Far  other  painting  5  grace  the  chamber  now, 
Where  late  we  saw  the  mimic  landscape  glow : 
The  busy  heralds  hang  the  sable  scene 
With  mournful  'scutcheons,  and  dim  lamps  between • 
Proclaim  their  ti;les  to  the  crowd  around, 
But  they  that  were  them  move  not  at  the  sound; 
The  coronet,  placed  idly  at  their  head, 
Adds  nothing  now  to  the  degraded  dead  ; 
And  e'en  the  star,  that  glitters  on  the  biei, 
Can  only  say — Nobility  lies  here. 
Peace  to  all  such — 'twere  pity  to  offend, 
By  useless  censure,  whom  we  cannot  mend ; 
Life  without  hope  can  close  but  in  despair, 
'Twas  there  we  found  them,  and  must  leave  them 
there. 

As,  when  two  pilgrims  in  a  forest  stray 
Both  may  be  lost,  yet  each  in  his  own  way ; 
So  fares  it  with  the  multitudes  beguiled 
In  vain  Opinion's  waste  and  dangerous  wild  ; 
Ten  thousand  rove  the  brakes  and  thorns  among, 
Some  eastward,  and  some  westward,  and  all  wrong. 
But  here,  alas  !  the  fatal  difference  lies, 
Each  man's  belief  is  right  in  his  own  eyes ; 
And  he  that  blames  what  they  have  blindly  chose, 
Incurs  resentment  for  the  love  he  shows. 

Say,  botanist,  within  whose  province  fall 
The  cedar  and  the  hyssop  on  the  wall, 
Of  all  that  deck  the  lanes,  the  fields,  the  bowers, 
What  parts  the  kindred  tribes  of  weeds  and  floweis  ? 
Sweet  scent,  or  lovely  form,  or  both  combined, 
Distinguish  every  cultivated  kind ; 
The  want  of  both  denotes  a  meaner  breed, 
And  Chloe  from  her  garland  picks  the  weed. 
Thus  hopes  of  3very  sort,  whatever  sect 
Esteem  them,  sow  them,  rear  them,  and  protect, 
If  wild  in  natuie,  and  not  duly  found, 
Gethsemane  !  iu  fhy  dear  hallowed  ground, 

8* 


90  HOPE 

That  cannot  bear  the  blaze  ol  Scripture  light, 

Nor  cheer  the  spirit,  nor  refresh  the  sight, 

Nor  animate  the  soul  to  Christian  deeds, 

(Oh  cast  them  from  thee  !)  are  weeds,  arrant  weeds 

Ethelred's  house,  the  centre  of  six  ways, 
Diverging  each  from  each,  like  equal  rays, 
Himself  as  bountiful  as  April  rains, 
Lord  paramount  of  the  surrounding  plains, 
Would  give  relief  of  bed  and  board  to  none 
But  guests  that  sought  it  in  th'  appointed  One  ; 
And  they  might  enter  at  his  open  door, 
E'en  till  his  spacious  hall  would  hold  no  more. 
He  sent  a  servant  forth  by  every  road, 
To  sound  his  horn,  and  publish  it  abroad, 
That  all  might  mark — knight,  menial,  high,  and  low 
An  ordinance  it  concerned  them  all  to  know. 
If,  after  all,  some  headstrong  hardy  lout 
Would  disobey,  though  sure  to  be  shut  out, 
Could  he  with  reason  murmur  at  his  case, 
Himself  sole  author  of  his  own  disgrace  ? 
No  !  the  decree  was  just  and  without  flaw ; 
And  he  that  made;  had  right  to  make,  the  law ; 
His  sovereign  power  and  pleasure  unrestrained, 
The  wrong"  was  his  who  wrongfully  complained. 

Yet  half  mankind  maintain  a  churlish  strife 
With  Him,  the  donor  of  eternal  life, 
Because  the  deed,  by  which  his  love  confirms 
The  largess  he  bestows,  prescribes  the  terms. 
Compliance  with  his  will  your  lot  ensures, 
Accept  it  only,  and  the  boon  is  yours. 
And  sure  it  is  as  kind  to  smile  and  give, 
As  with  a  frown  to  say,  Do  this,  and  live. 
Love  is  not  pedler's  trumpery  bought  and  sold : 
He  will  give  freely,  or  he  will  withhold  ; 
His  soul  abhors  a  mercenary  thought, 
And  him  as  deeply  who  abhors  it  not ; 
He  stipulates  indeed,  but  merely  this, 
That  man  will  freely  take  an  unbought  bliss, 


HOPE.  91 

Will  trust  him  for  a  faithful  generous  part 

Nor  set  a  price  upon  a  willing  heart. 

Of  all  the  ways  that  seems  to  promise  fair, 

To  place  you  where  his  saints  his  presence  share, 

This  only  can  ;  for  this  plain  cause,  expressed 

In  terms  as  plain,  Himself  has  shut  the  rest 

But  oh  the  strife,  the  bickering,  and  debate, 

The  tidings  of  unpurchased  Heaven  create  ! 

The  flirted  fan,  the  bridle,  and  the  toss, 

Ail  speakers,  yet  all  language  at  a  loss. 

From  stuccoed  walls  smart  argument  rebound ; 

And  beaux,  adepts  in  every  thing  profound, 

Die  of  disdain,  or  whistle  off  the  sound. 

Such  is  the  clamour  of  rooks,  daws,  and  kites, 

Th'  explosion  of  the  levelled  tube  excites, 

Where  mouldering  abbey-walls  o'erhang  the  glade, 

And  oaks  coeval  spread  a  mournful  shade ; 

The  screaming  nations,  hovering  in  mid  air, 

Loudly  resent  the  stranger's  freedom  there, 

And  seem  to  warn  him  never  to  repeat 

His  bold  intrusion  on  their  dark  retreat. 

Adieu,  Vinosa  cries,  ere  yet  he  sips 
The  purple  bumper  trembling  at  his  lips, 
Adieu  to  all  morality  !  if  Grace 
Make  works  a  vain  ingredient  in  the  case. 
The  Christian  hope  is — Waiter  draw  the  cork — 
If  I  mistake  not — Blockhead  !  with  a  fork  ! 
Without  good  works,  whatever  some  may  boast, 
Mere  folly  and  delusion — Sir,  your  toast. 
My  firm  persuasion  is,  at  least  sometimes, 
That  Heaven  will  weigh  man's  virtues  and  his  crimes 
With  nice  attention,  in  a  righteous  scale, 
And  save  or  damn  as  these  or  those  prevail. 
I  plant  my  foot  upon  this  ground  of  trust, 
And  silence  every  fear  with — God  is  just* 
But  if  perchance  on  some  dull  drizzling  day 
A  thought  intrude,  that  says,  or  seems  to  say, 
If  thus  th'  important  cause  is  to  be  tried, 


32  HOPE. 

Suppose  the  beam  should  dip  on  the  wrong, 
I  soon  recover  from  these  needless  frights, 
And  God  is  merciful — sets  all  to  rights. 
Thus  between  justice,  as  my  prime  support, 
And  mercy,  fled  to  as  the  last  resort, 
I  glide  and  steal  along  with  Heaven  in  view, 
And, — pardon  me,  the  bottle  stands  with  you. 

I  never  will  believe,  the  Colonel  cries, 
The  sanguinary  schemes,  that  some  devise 
Who  make  the  good  Creator  on  their  plan 
A  being  of  less  equity  than  man. 
If  appetite,  or  what  divines  call  lust, 
Which  men  comply  with,  e'en  because  they  must 
Be  punished  with  perdition,  who  is  pure  ? 
Then  theirs,  no  doubt,  as  well  as  mine,  is  sure. 
If  sentence  of  eternal  pain  belong 
To  every  sudden  slip  and  transient  wrong, 
Then  Heaven  enjoins  the  fallible  and  frail. 
A  hopeless  task,  and  damns  them  if  they  fail. 
My  creed  (whatever  some  creed-makers  mean 
By  Athanasian  nonsense,  or  Nicene) — 
My  creed  is,  he  is  safe  that  does  his  best, 
And  death's  a  doom  sufficient  for  the  rest. 

Right,  says  an  ensign  ;  and,  for  aught  I  see, 
Your  faith  and  mine  substantially  agree  ; 
The  best  of  every  man's  performance  here 
Is  to  discharge  the  duties  of  his  sphere. 
A  lawyer's  dealings  should  be  just  and  fair, 
Honesty  shines  with  great  advantage  there. 
Fasting  and  prayer  sit  well  upon  a  priest, 
A  decent  caution  and  reserve  at  least. 
A  soldier's  best  is  courage  in  the  field, 
With  nothing  here  that  wants  to  be  concealed ; 
Manly  deportment,  gallant,  easy,  gay  ; 
A  hand  as  liberal  as  the  light  of  day. 
The  soldier  thus  endowed  who  never  shrinks, 
Nor  closets  up  his  thoughts,  whate'er  he  thinks, 
Who  scorns  to  do  an  injury  by  stealth, 


HOPE.  93 

Must  go  to  Heaven — and  I  must  drink  his  health. 
Sir  Smug,  he  cries,  (for  lowest  at  the  board, 
Just  made  fifth  chaplain  of  his  patron  lord, 
His  shoulders  witnessing,  by  many  a  shrug, 
How  much  his  feelings  suffered,  sat  Sir  Smug,) 
Your  office  is  to  winnow  false  from  true  ; 
Come,  prophet,  drink,  arid  tell  us  what  think  you  ? 

Sighing  and  smiling  as  he  takes  his  glass, 
Which  they  that  woo  preferment  rarely  pass, 
Fallible  man,  the  church -bred  youth  replies, 
Is  still  found  fallible,  however  wise  ; 
And  different  judgments  serve  but  to  declare, 
That  truth  lies  somewhere,  if  we  knew  but  where. 
Of  all  it  ever  was  my  lot  to  read, 
Of  Critics  now  alive,  or  long  since  dead, 
The  book  of  all  the  world  that  charmed  me  most 
Was, — welladay,  the  title-page  was  lost ; 
The  writer  well  remarks,  a  heart  that  knows 
To  take  with  gratitude  what  Heaven  bestows, 
With  prudence  always  ready  at  our  call, 
To  guide  our  use  of  it,  is  all  in  all. 
Doubtless  it  is. — To  which  of  my  own  store, 
1  superadd  a  few  essentials  more  ; 
But  these,  excuse  the  liberty  I  take, 
I  waive  just  now,  for  conversation's  sake. — 
Spoke  like  an  oracle,  they  all  exclaim, 
And  add  Right  Reverend  to  Smug's  honoured  name. 

And  yet  our  lot  is  given  us  in  a  land 
Where  busy  arts  are  never  at  a  stand  ; 
Where  Science  points  her  telescopic  eye, 
Familiar  with  the  wonders  of  the  sky ; 
Where  bold  inquiry,  diving  out  of  sight, 
Brings  many  a  precious  pearl  of  truth  to  light ; 
Where  naught  eludes  the  persevering  quest 
That  fashion,  taste,  or  luxury,  suggest. 

But,  above  all,  in  her  own  light  arrayed, 
See  Mercy's  grand  apocalypse  displayed  ! 
The  sacred  book  no  longer  suffers  wrong, 


94  HOPE. 

Bound  in  the  fetters  of  an  unknown  tongue  : 
But  speaks  with  plainness,  art  could  never  mend, 
What  simplest  minds  can  soonest  comprehend. 
God  gives  the  word,  the  preachers  throng  around, 
Live  from  his  lips,  and  spread  the  glorious  sound : 
That  sound  bespeaks  Salvation  on  her  way, 
The  trumpet  of  a  life-restoring  day ; 
'Tis  heard  where  England's  eastern  glory  shines, 
And  in  the  gulfs  of  her  Cornubian  mines. 

And  still  it  spreads.     See  Germany  send  forth 
Her  sons*  to  pour  it  on  the  farthest  north : 
Fired  with  a  zeal  peculiar,  they  defy 
The  rage  and  vigour  of  a  polar  sky, 
And  plant  successfully  sweet  Sharon's  rose 
On  icy  plains,  and  in  eternal  snows. 

O  blest  within  th'  enclosure  of  your  rocks, 
Nor  herds  have  ye  to  boast,  nor  bleating  flocks ; 
No  fertilizing  streams  your  fields  divide, 
That  show  reversed  the  villas  on  their  side  ; 
No  groves  have  ye  ;  no  cheerful  sound  of  bird, 
Or  voice  of  turtle,  in  your  land  is  heard : 
Nor  grateful  eglantine  regales  the  smell 
Of  those,  that  walk  at  evening  where  ye  dwell : 
But  Winter,  armed  with  terrors  here  unknown, 
Sits  absolute  on  his  unshaken  throne ; 
Piles  up  his  stores  amidst  the  frozen  waste, 
And  bids  the  mountains  he  has  built  stand  fast ; 
Beckons  the  legions  of  his  storms  away 
From  happier  scenes,  to  make  your  land  a  prey, 
Proclaims  the  soil  a  conquest  he  has  won, 
And  scorns  to  share  it  with  the  distant  sun. 
Yet  Truth  is  yours,  remote,  unenvied  isle ! 
And  Peace,  the  genuine  offspring  of  her  smile ; 
The  pride  of  lettered  Ignorance,  that  binds 
In  chains  of  error  our  accomplished  minds, 
That  decks,  with  all  the  splendour  of  the  true, 
A  false  religion,  is  unknown  to  you 

*The  Moravian  Missionaries  in  Greenland.    Sec  Krantx. 


HOPE.  05 

Nature,  indeed,  vouchsafes  for  our  delight 
The  sweet  vicissitudes  of  day  and  night : 
Soft  airs  and  genial  moisture  feed  and  cheer 
Field,  fruit,  and  flower,  and  every  creature  here  ; 
But  brighter  beams  than  his  who  fires  the  skies, 
Have  risen  at  length  on  your  admiring  eyes, 
That  shoot  into  your  darkest  caves  the  day, 
From  which  our  nicest  optics  turn  away. 

Here  see  th?  encouragement  Grace  gives  to  vice, 
The  dire  effect  of  mercy  without  price  ! 
What  were  they  ?  what  some  fools  are  made  by  art, 
They  were  by  nature,  atheists,  head  and  heart. 
The  gross  idolatry  blind  heathens  teach 
Was  too  refined  for  them,  beyond  their  reach. 
Not  e'en  the  glorious  Sun,  though  men  revere 
The  monarch  most,  that  seldom  will  appear, 
And  though  his  beams  that  quicken  where  they  shine, 
May  claim  some  right  to  be  esteemed  divine, 
Not  e'en  the  sun,  desirable  as  rare, 
Could  bend  one  knee,  engage  one  votary  there ; 
They  were,  what  base  Credulity  believes 
True  Christians  are,  dissemblers,  drunkards,  thieves. 
The  full-gorged  savage,  at  his  nauseous  feast, 
Spent  half  the  darkness,  and  snored  out  the  rest, 
Was  one  whom  Justice,  on  an  equal  plan, 
Denouncing  death  upon  the  sins  of  man, 
Might  almost  have  indulged  with  an  escape, 
Chargeable  only  with  a  human  shape. 

What  are  they  now  ? — Morality  may  spare 
Her  grave  concern,  her  kind  suspicions  there  : 
The  wretch,  who  once  sang   wildly,   danced,  and 

laughed 

And  sucked  in  dizzy  madness  with  his  draught : 
Has  wept  a  silent  flood,  reversed  his  ways, 
Is  sober,  meek,  benevolent,  and  prays, 
Feeds  sparingly,  communicates  his  store, 
Abhors  the  craft  he  boasted  of  before, 
And  he  that  stole,  has  learned  to  steal  no  more. 


96  HOPE 

Well  spake  the  prophet,  Let  tLe  desert  sing, 
Where  sprang  the  thorn,  the  spiry  fir  shall  spring, 
And  where  unsightly  and  rank  thistles  grew, 
Shall  grow  the  myrtle  and  luxuriant  yew. 

Go  now,  and  with  important  tone  demand 
On  what  foundation  virtue  is  to  stand, 
If  self-exalting  claims  be  turned  adrift, 
And  grace  be  grace  indeed,  and  life  a  gift  ; 
The  poor  reclaimed  inhabitant,  his  eyes 
Glistening  at  once  with  pity  and  surprise, 
Amazed  that  shadows  should  obscure  the  sight 
Of  one,  whose  birth  was  in  a  land  of  light, 
Shall  answer,  Hope,  sweet  Hope,  has  set  me  free, 
And  made  all  pleasures  else  mere  dross  to  me. 

These,  amidst  scenes  as  waste  as  if  denied 
The  common  care  that  waits  on  all  beside, 
Wild  as  if  Nature  there,  void  of  all  good, 
Played  only  gambols  in  a  frantic  mood, 
(Yet  charge  not  heavenly  skill  with  having  planned 
A  plaything  world,  unworthy  of  his  hand,) 
Can  see  his  love,  though  secret  evil  lurks 
In  all  we  touch,  stamped  plainly  on  his  works,   . 
Deem  life  a  blessing  with  its  numerous  woes, 
Nor  spurn  away  a  gift  a  God  bestows. 
Hard  task,  indeed,  o'er  arctic  seas  to  roam ! 
Is  hope  exotic  ?  grows  it  not  at  home  ? 
Yes,  but  an  object,  bright  as  orient  morn, 
May  press  the  eye  too  closely  to  be  borne ; 
A  distant  virtue  we  can  all  confess, 
It  hurts  our  pride,  and  moves  our  envy,  less. 

Leuconomus  (beneath  well  sounding  Greek 
I  slur  a  name  a  poet  must  not  speak) 
Stood  pilloried  on  Infamy's  high  stage, 
And  bore  the  pelting  scorn  of  half  an  age ; 
The  very  butt  of  Slander,  and  the  blot 
For  every  dart  that  Malice  ever  shot. 
The  man  that  mentioned  him  at  once  dismissed 
All  mercy  from  his  lips,  and  sneered  and  hissed  ; 


HOPE.  «7 

His  Crimes  were  such  as  Sodom  never  knew, 

And  Ivrury  stood  up  to  swear  all  true  ; 

His  aim  vas  mischief,  and  his  zeal  pretence, 

His  speech  rebellion  against  common  sense ; 

A  knave,  \vhen  tried  on  honesty's  plain  rule ; 

And  when  oy  that  of  reason,  a  mere  fool ; 

The  worlds  best  comfort  was,  his  doom  was  passed  j 

Die  when  h  «  might,  he  must  be  damned  at  last. 

Now,  Truth,  perform  thine  office  ;  waft  aside 
The  curtain  drawn  by  Prejudice  and  Pride, 
Reveal  (the  man  is  dead)  to  wondering  eyes 
This  more  than  monster,  in  his  proper  guise. 
He  loved  the  world  that  hated  him  :  the  tear 
That  dropt  upon  his  Bible  was  sincere  : 
Assailed  by  scandal  and  the  tongue  of  strife, 
His  only  answer  was  a  blameless  life  ; 
And  he  that  forged,  and  he  that  threw  the  dart, 
Had  each  a  brother's  interest  in  his  heart. 
Paul's  love  of  Christ,  and  steadiness  unbribed, 
Were  copied  close  in  him,  and  well  transcribed. 
He  followed  Paul,  his  zeal  a  kindred  flame, 
His  apostolic  charity  the  same. 
Like  him,  crossed  cheerfully  tempestuous  seas, 
Forsaking  country,  kindred,  friends,  and  ease ; 
Like  him  he  laboured,  and  like  him  content 
To  bear  it,  suffered  shame  where'er  he  went. 
Blush,  Calumny !  and  write  upon  his  tomb, 
If  honest  Eulogy  can  spare  thee  room, 
Thy  deep  repentance  of  thy  thousand  lies, 
Which,  aimed  at  him,  have  pierced  the  offended  skies ! 
And  say,  blot  out  my  sin,  confessed,  deplored, 
Against  thine  image,  in  thy  saint,  O  Lord  ! 

No  blinder  bigot,  I  maintain  it  still, 
Than  he  who  must  have  pleasure,  come  what  will : 
He  laughs,  whatever  weapon  Truth  may  draw, 
And  deems  her  sharp  artillery  mere  straw. 
Scripture  indeed  is  plain ;  but  God  and  he 
On  Scripture  ground  are  sure  to  disagree ; 
9 


98  HOPE. 

Some  wiser  rule  must  teach  him  how  to  lire, 
Than  this  his  Maker  has  seen  fit  to  give ; 
Supple  and  flexible  as  Indian  cane, 
To  tajte  the  bend  his  appetites  ordain  ; 
Contrived  to  suit  frail  Nature's  crazy  case, 
And  reconcile  his  lusts  with  saving  grace. 
By  this,  with  nice  precision  of  design, 
He  draws  upon  life's  map  a  zigzag  line, 
That  shows  how  far  'tis  safe  to  follow  sin, 
And  where  his  danger  and  God's  wrath  begin. 
By  this  he  forms,  as  pleased  he  sports  along, 
His  well-poised  estimate  of  right  and  wrong  ; 
And  finds  the  modish  manners  of  the  day, 
Though  loose,  as  harmless  as  an  infant's  play. 

Build  by  whatever  plan  Caprice  decrees, 
With  what  materials,  on  what  ground  you  please  ; — 
Your  hope  shall  stand  unblamed,  perhaps  admired, 
If  not  that  hope  the  Scripture  has  required. 
The  strange  conceits,  vain  projects  and  wild  dreams, 
With  which  hypocrisy  for  ever  teems, 
(Though  other  follies  strike  the  public  eye, 
Arid  raise  a  laugh,)  pass  unmolested  by ; 
But  if,  unblameable  in  word  or  thought, 
A  man  arise,  a  man  whom  God  has  taught, 
With  all  Elijah's  dignity  of  tone, 
And  all  the  love  of  the  beloved  John, 
To  storm  the  citadels  they  build  in  air, 
And  smite  the  un tempered  wall ;  'tis  death  to  spare. 
To  sweep  away  all  refuges  of  lies, 
And  place,  instead  of  quirks  themselves  devise, 
Lama  Sabacthani  before  their  eyes ; 
To  prove,  that  without  Christ  all  gain  is  loss, 
All  hope  despair,  that  stands  not  on  his  cross  ; 
Except  the  few  his  God  may  have  impressed, 
A  tenfold  frenzy  seizes  all  the  rest. 

Throughout  mankind,  the  Christian  kind  at  least, 
There  dwells  a  consciousness  in  every  breast, 
That  folly  ends  where  genuine  hope  begins. 


HOPE.  99 

And  he  that  finds  his  Heaven  must  lose  his  sins. 

Nature  opposes  with  her  utmost  force 

This  riving  stroke,  this  ultimate  divorce ; 

And,  while  religion  seems  to  be  her  view, 

Hates  with  a  deep  sincerity  the  true  : 

For  this,  of  all  that  ever  influenced  man, 

Since  Abel  worshipped,  or  the  world  began, 

This  only  spares  no  lust,  admits  no  plea, 

But  makes  him,  if  at  all,  completely  free ; 

Sounds  forth  the  signal,  as  she  mounts  her  car, 

Of  an  eternal,  universal  war ; 

Rejects  all  treaty,  penetrates  all  wiles, 

Scorns  with  the  same  indifference  frowns  and  smiles; 

Drives  through  the  realms  of  Sin,  where  riot  reels, 

And  grinds  his  crown  beneath  her  burning  wheels ! 

Hence  all  that  is  in  man,  pride,  passion,  art, 

Powers  of  the  mind,  and  feelings  of  the  heart, 

Insensible  of  Truth's  almighty  charms, 

Starts  at  her  first  approach,  and  sounds  to  arms ! 

While  Bigotry,  with  well  dissembled  fears, 

His  eyes  shut  fast,  his  fingers  in  his  ears, 

Mighty  to  parry  and  push  by  God's  word, 

With  senseless  noise,  his  argument  the  sword, 

Pretends  a  zeal  for  godliness  and  grace, 

And  spits  abhorrence  in  the  Christian's  face. 

Parent  of  Hope,  immortal  Truth!  make  known 
Thy  deathless  wreaths,  and  triumphs  all  thine  own. 
The  silent  progress  of  thy  power  is  such, 
Thy  means  so  feeble,  and  despised  so  much, 
That  few  believe  the  wonders  thou  hast  wrought, 
And  none  can  teach  them,  but  whom  thou  hast  taught 
O  see  me  sworn  to  serve  thee,  and  command 
A  painter's  skill  into  a  poet's  hand, 
That,  while  I  trembling  trace  a  work  divine, 
Fancy  may  stand  aloof  from  the  design, 
And  light,  and  shade,  and  every  stroke  be  thine. 

If  ever  thou  hast  felt  another's  pain, 
If  ever  when  he  sighed  hast  sighed  again, 


100  HOPE. 

If  ever  on  thy  eyelid  stood  the  tear, 

That  pity  had  engendered,  drop  one  here. 

This  man  was  happy — had  the  world's  good  word, 

And  with  it  every  joy  it  can  afford ; 

Friendship  and  love  seem  tenderly  at  strife, 

Which  most  should  sweeten  his  untroubled  life  ; 

Politely  learned,  and  of  a  gentle  race, 

Good  breeding  and  good  sense  gave  all  a  grace, 

And  whether  at  the  toilette  of  the  fair, 

He  laughed  and  trifled,  made  him  welcome  there, 

Or  if  in  masculine  debate  he  shared, 

Ensured  him  mute  attention  and  regard. 

Alas,  how  changed  !     Expressive  of  his  mind, 

His  eyes  are  sunk,  arms  folded,  head  reclined  ; 

Those  awful  syllables,  hell,  death,  and  sin, 

Though  whispered,  plainly  tell  what  works  within  ; 

That  conscience  there  performs  her  proper  part, 

And  writes  a  doomsday  sentence  on  his  heart ; 

Forsaking,  and  forsaken  of  all  friends, 

He  now  perceives  where  earthly  pleasure  ends  ; 

Hard  task  !  for  one  who  lately  knew  no  care, 

And  harder  still  as  learnt  beneath  despair  ; 

His  hours  no  longer  pass  unmarked  away, 

A  dark  importance  saddens  every  day  ; 

He  hears  the  notice  of  the  clock  perplexed, 

And  cries,  perhaps  eternity  strikes  next ; 

Sweet  music  is  no  longer  music  here, 

And  laughter  sounds  like  madness  in  his  ear : 

His  grief  the  world  of  all  her  power  disarms, 

Wine  has  no  taste,  and  beauty  has  no  charms  : 

orod's  holy  word,  once  trivial  in  his  view, 

Now  by  the  voice  of  his  experience  true, 

Seems,  as  it  is,  the  fountain  whence  alone 

Must  spring  that  hope  he  pants  to  make  his  own. 

Now  let  the  bright  reverse  be  known  abroad  ; 
Say  man's  a  worm,  and  power  belongs  to  God. 

As  when  a  felon,  whom  his  country's  laws 
Have  justly  doomed  for  some  atrocious  cause, 


HOPK  V  ;     KK 

Expects  in  darkness  and  heart-chilling  fears, 

The  shameful  close  of  all  his  mispent  years ; 

If  chance,  on  heavy  pinions  slowly  borne, 

A  tempest  usher  in  the  dreaded  morn, 

Upon  his  dungeon  walls  the  lightnings  play, 

The  thunder  seems  to  summon  him  away, 

The  warder  at  the  door  his  key  applies, 

Shoots  back  the  bolt,  and  all  his  courage  dies : 

Tf  then,  just  then,  all  thoughts  of  mercy  lost, 

When  hope,  long  lingering,  at  last  yields  the  ghost, 

The  sounds  of  pardon  pierce  his  startled  ear, 

He  drops  at  once  his  fetters  and  his  fear ; 

A  transport  glows  in  all  he  looks  and  speaks, 

And  the  first  thankful  tears  bedew  his  cheeks. 

Joy,  far  superior  joy,  that  much  outweighs 

The  comfort  of  a  few  poor  added  days, 

Invades,  possesses,  and  overwhelms  the  soul 

Of  him,  whom  Hope  has  with  a  touch  made  whole. 

'Tis  Heaven,  all  Heaven  descending  on  the  wings 

Of  the  glad  legions  of  the  King  of  kings  ; 

'Tis  more — 'tis  God  diffused  through  every  part, 

'Tis  God  himself  triumphant  in  his  heart. 

O  welcome  now  the  sun's  once  hated  light, 

His  noonday  beams  were  never  half  so  bright 

Not  kindred  minds  alone  are  called  t'  employ 

Their  hours,  their  days,  in  listening  to  his  joy  ; 

Unconscious  nature,  all  that  he  surveys, 

Rocks,  groves,  and  streams,  must  join  him  in  his 

praise. 

These  are  thy  glorious  works,  eternal  Truth, 
The  scoff  of  withered  age  and  beardless  youth  ; 
These  move  the  censure  and  illiberal  grin 
Of  fools,  that  hate  thee  and  delight  in  sin : 
But  these  shall  last  when  night  has  quenched  the  pole, 
And  Heaven  is  all  departed  as  a  scroll ; 
And  when,  as  Justice  has  long  since  decreed, 
This  earth  shall  blaze,  and  a  new  world  succeed, 
Then  these  thy  orlorious  works,  and  they  who  share 

9* 


\  /.'.CHARITY. 


That  hope  which  can  alone  exclude  despair, 
Shall  live  exempt  from  weakness  and  decay, 
The  brightest  wonders  of  an  endless  day. 

Happy  the  bard,  (if  that  fair  name  belong 
To  him,  that  blends  no  fable  with  his  song,) 
Whose  lines  uniting,  by  an  honest  art, 
The  faithful  monitor's  and  poet's  part, 
Seek  to  delight,  that  they  may  mend  mankind, 
And,  while  they  captivate,  inform  the  mind : 
Still  happier,  if  he  till  a  thankful  soil, 
And  fruit  reward  his  honourable  toil : 
But  happier  far,  who  comfort  those,  that  wait 
To  hear  plain  truth  at  Judah's  hallowed  gate : 
Their  language  simple,  as  their  manners  meek, 
No  shining  ornaments  have  they  to  seek ; 
Nor  labour  they,  nor  time  nor  talents  waste, 
In  sorting  flowers  to  suit  a  fickle  taste  ; 
But  while  they  speak  the  wisdom  of  the  skies, 
Which  art  can  only  darken  and  disguise, 
Th'  abundant  harvest,  recompense  divine, 
Repays  their  work — the  gleaning  only  mine. 


CHARITY. 

Quo  nihil  majus  meliusve  terris 
Fata  donavere,  boniqne  divi : 
Nee  dabunt,  quamvis  rcdeant  in  aurum 

Tempora  priscum.  HOT.  Lib.  iv.  Ode  2. 

FAIREST  and  foremost  of  the  train,  that  wait 
On  man's  most  dignified  and  happiest  state. 
Whether  we  name  thee  charity  or  love, 
Chief  grace  below,  and  all  in  all  above, 
Prosper  (I  press  thee  with  a  powerful  plea) 
A  task  I  venture  on,  impelled  by  thee ; 
O  never  seen  but  in  thy  blest  effects, 
Or  felt  but  in  the  soul  that  I  eaven  selects ; 
Who  seeks  to  praise  thee,  and  to  make  thee  known 
To  other  hearts,  must  have  thee  in  his  own 


CHARITY.  103 

Come,  prompt  me  with  benevolent  desires, 
Teach  me  to  kindle  at  thy  gentle  fires, 
And,  though  disgraced  and  slighted,  to  redeem 
A  poet's  name,  by  making  thee  the  theme. 

God,  working  ever  on  a  social  plan, 
By  various  ties  attaches  man  to  man  : 
He  made  at  first,  though  free  and  unconfined, 
One  man  the  common  father  of  the  kind  ; 
That  every  tribe,  though  placed  as  he  sees  best 
Where  seas  nor  deserts  part  them  from  the  rest, 
Differing  in  language,  manners,  or  in  face, 
Might  feel  themselves  allied  to  all  the  race. 
When  Cook — lamented,  and  with  tears  as  just 
As  ever  mingled  with  heroic  dust, — 
Steered  Britain's  oak  into  a  world  unknown, 
And  in  his  country's  glory  sought  his  own, 
Wherever  he  found  man,  to  nature  true, 
The  rights  of  man  were  sacred  in  his  view ; 
He  soothed  with  giiX  and  greeted  with  a  smile, 
The  simple  native  of  the  new-found  isle  ; 
He  spurned  the  wretch  that  slighted  or  withstood 
The  tender  argument  of  kindred  blood, 
Nor  would  endure,  that  any  should  control 
His  freeborn  brethren  of  the  southern  pole. 

But  though  some  nobler  minds  a  law  respect, 
That  none  shall  with  impunity  neglect, 
In  baser  souls  unnumbered  evils  meet, 
To  thwart  its  influence,  and  its  end  defeat. 
While  Cook  is  loved  for  savage  lives  he  saved, 
See  Cortez  odious  for  a  world  enslaved  ! 
Where  wast  thou  then,  sweet  Charity  ?  where  then, 
Thou  tutelary  friend  of  helpless  men? 
Wast  thou  in  monkish  cells  and  nunneries  found, 
Or  building  hospitals  on  English  ground  ? 
No. — Mammon  makes  the  world  his  legatee 
Through  fear,  not  love ;  and  Heaven  abhors  the  fee, 
Wherever  found,  (and  all  men  need  thy  care,) 
Nor  age  nor  infancy  could  find  thee  thero. 


104  CHARITY. 

The  hand,  that  slew  till  it  could  slay  no  more, 
Was  glued  to  the  sword  hilt  with  Indian  gore. 
Their  prince,  as  justly  seated  on  his  throne 
As  vain  imperial  Philip  on  his  own. 
Tricked  out  of  all  his  royalty  by  art, 
That  stripped  him  bare,  and  broke  his  honest  heart 
Died  by  the  sentence  of  a  shaven  priest, 
For  scorning  what  they  taught  him  to  detest. 
How  dark  the  veil,  that  intercepts  the  blaze 
Of  Heaven's  mysterious  purposes  and  ways, 
God  stood  not,  though  he  seemed  to  stand  aloof; 
And  at  this  hour  the  conqueror  feels  the  proof: 
The  wreath  he  won  drew  down  an  instant  curse, 
The  fretting  plague  is  in  the  public  purse, 
The  cankered  spoil  corrodes  the  pining  state, 
Starved  by  that  indolence  their  mines  create. 

O  could  their  ancient  Incas  rise  again, 
How  would  they  take  up  Israel's  taunting  strain  ? 
Art  thou  too  fallen,  Iberia  ?     Do  we  see 
The  robber  and  the  murderer  weak  as  we  ? 
Thou,  that  hast  wasted  earth,  and  dared  despise 
Alike  the  wrath  and  mercy  of  the  skies, 
Thy  pomp  is  in  the  grave,  thy  glory  laid 
Low  in  the  pits  thine  avarice  has  made. 
We  come  with  joy  from  our  eternal  rest, 
To  see  the  oppressor  in  his  turn  oppressed. 
Art  thou  the  god,  the  thunder  of  whose  hand 
Rolled  over  all  our  desolated  land, 
Shook,  principalities  and  kingdoms  down, 
And  made  the  mountains  tremble  at  his  frown ! 
The  sword  shall  light  upon  thy  boasted  powers. 
And  waste  them,  as  thy  sword  has  wasted  ours. 
'Tis  thus  Omnipotence  his  law  fulfils, 
And  Vengeance  executes  what  Justice  wills. 

Again — the  band  of  commerce  was  designed 
T'  associate  all  the  branches  of  mankind  ; 
And  if  a  boundless  plenty  be  the  robe, 
Trade  is  the  golden  girdle  of  the  globe. 


CHARITY.  105 

Wise  to  promote  whatever  end  he  means, 
God  opens  fruitful  nature's  various  scenes  : 
Each  climate  needs  what  other  climes  produce, 
And  offers  something  to  the  general  use ; 
No  land  but  listens  to  the  common  call, 
And  in  return  receives  supply  from  all. 
This  genial  intercourse,  and  mutual  aid, 
Cheers  what  were  else  a  universal  shade, 
Calls  Nature  from  her  ivy  mantled  den, 
And  softens  human  rock-work  into  men. 
Ingenious  Art,  with  her  expressive  face, 
Steps  forth  to  fashion  and  refine  the  race  ; 
Not  only  fills  Necessity's  demand, 
But  overcharges  her  capacious  hand  : 
Capricious  Taste  itself  can  crave  no  more, 
Than  she  supplies  from  her  abounding  store ; 
She  strikes  out  all  that  luxury  can  ask, 
And  gains  new  vigour  at  her  endless  task. 
Here  is  the  spacious  arch,  the  shapely  spire, 
The  painter's  pencil,  and  the  poet's  lyre  ; 
From  her  the  canvass  borrows  light  and  shade, 
And  verse,  more  lasting,  hues  that  never  fade. 
She  guides  the  fingers  o'er  the  dancing  keys, 
Gives  difficulty  all  the  grace  of  ease, 
And  pours  a  torrent  of  sweet  notes  around, 
Fast  as  the  thirsting  ear  can  drink  the  sound. 

These  are  the  gifts  of  Art,  and  Art  thrives  most 
Where  commerce  has  enriched  the  busy  coast ; 
He  catches  all  improvements  in  his  flight, 
Spreads  foreign  wonders  in  hi&  <  ountry's  sight, 
Imports  what  others  have  invented  well, 
And  stirs  his  own  to  match  them,  or  excel. 
'Tis  thus  reciprocating,  each  with  each, 
Alternately  the  nations  learti  and  teach  ; 
While  Providence  enjoins  to  every  soul 
A  union  with  the  vast  terraqueous  whole. 

Heaven  speed  the  canvass,  gallantly  unfurled 
T?  furnish  and  accommodate  n  world, 


106  CHAR1TV. 

To  give  the  pole  the  produce  of  the  sun, 

And  knit  th'  unsocial  climates  into  one. — 

Soft  airs  and  gentle  heavings  of  the  wave 

Impel  the  fleet,  whose  errand  is  to  save, 

To  succour  wasted  regions,  and  replace 

The  smile  of  Opulence  in  Sorrow's  face. 

Let  nothing  adverse,  nothing  unforeseen, 

Impede  the  bark,  that  ploughs  the  deep  serene. 

Charged  with  a  freight  transcending  in  its  worth 

The  gems  of  India,  Nature's  rarest  birth, 

That  flies,  like  Gabriel  on  his  Lord's  commands, 

A  herald  of  God's  love  to  pagan  lands. 

But  ah  !  what  wish  can  prosper,  or  what  prayer, 

For  merchants  rich  in  cargoes  of  despair, 

Who  drive  a  loathsome  traffic,  gauge,  and  span, 

Aud  buy  the  muscles  and  the  bones  of  man  ! 

The  tender  ties  of  father,  husband,  friend, 

All  bonds  of  nature  in  that  moment  end  ; 

And  each  endures,  while  yet  he  draws  his  breath, 

A  stroke  as  fatal  as  the  scythe  of  Death. 

The  sable  warrior,  frantic  with  regret 

Of  her  he  loves,  and  never  can  forget, 

Loses  in  tears  the  far-receding  shore, 

But  not  the  thought,  that  they  must  meet  no  more ; 

Deprived  of  her  and  freedom  at  a  blow, 

What  has  he  left  that  he  can  yet  forego  ? 

Yes,  to  deep  sadness  sullenly  resigned, 

He  feels  his  body's  bondage  in  his  mind ; 

Puts  oiF  his  generous  nature ;  and,  to  suit 

His  manners  with  his  fate,  puts  on  the  brute. 

O  most  degrading  of  all  ills,  that  wait 
On  man,  a  mourner  in  his  best  estate! 
All  other  sorrows  Virtue  may  endure, 
And  find  submission  more  than  half  a  cure  ; 
Grief  is  itself  a  medicine,  and  bestowed 
T'  improve  the  fortitude  that  bears  the  load, 
To  teach  the  wanderer,  as  his  woes  increase, 
The  path  of  Wisdom,  all  whose  paths  are  peace  ; 


CHARITY.  107 

But  slavery  ! — Virtue  dreads  it  as  her  grave : 

Patience  itself  is  meanness  in  a  slave : 

Or  if  the  will  and  sovereignty  of  God 

Did  suffer  it  awhile,  and  kiss  the  rod, 

Wait  for  the  dawning  of  a  brighter  da> 

And  snap  the  chain  the  moment  when  you  may. 

Nature  imprints  upon  whate'er  we  see, 

That  has  a  heart  and  life  in  it,  Be  free  ; 

The  beasts  are  chartered — neither  age  nor  force 

Can  quell  the  love  of  freedom  in  a  horse  : 

He  breaks  the  cord  that  held  him  at  the  rack  ; 

And,  conscious  of  an  unencumbered  back, 

Snuffs  up  the  morning  air,  forgets  the  rein ; 

Loose  fly  his  firelock  and  his  ample  mane. 

Responsive  to  the  distant  neigh  he  neighs  ; 

Nor  stops  till,  overleaping  all  delays, 

He  finds  the  pasture  where  his  fellows  graze. 

Canst  thou,  and  honoured  with  a  Christian  name, 
Buy  what  is  woman-born,  and  feel  no  shame  ; 
Trade  in  the  blood  of  innocence,  and  plead 
Expedience  as  a  warrant  for  the  deed  ? 
So  may  the  wolf,  whom  famine  has  made  bold, 
To  quit  the  forest  and  invade  the  fold  : 
So  may  the  ruffian,  who,  with  ghostly  glide, 
Dagger  in  hand,  steals  close  to  your  bed  side ; 
Not  he,  but  his  emergence  forced  the  door, 
He  found  it  inconvenient  to  be  poor. 
Has  God  then  given  its  sweetness  to  the  cane, 
Unless  his  laws  be  trampled  on — in  vain  ? 
Built  a  brave  world,  which  cannot  yet  subsist, 
Unless  his  right  to  rule  it  be  dismissed  ? 
[mpudent  blasphemy  !     So  Folly  pleads, 
And,  Avarice  being  judge,  with  ease  succeeds. 

But  grant  the  plea,  and  let  it  stand  for  just, 
That  man  make  man  his  prey,  because  he  must : 
Still  there  is  room  for  pity  to  abate, 
And  sooth  the  sorrows  of  so  sad  a  state. 
A  Briton  knows,  or  if  he  knows  it  not, 


108  CHARITY. 

The  scripture  placed  within  his  reach,  he  ought, 

That  souls  have  no  discriminating  hue, 

Alike  important  in  their  Maker's  view ; 

That  none  are  free  from  blemish  since  the  fall, 

And  Love  divine  has  paid  one  price  for  all. 

The  wretch,  that  works  and  weeps  without  relief) 

Has  one  that  notices  his  silent  grief. 

He,  from  whose  hands  alone  all  po^yer  proceeds, 

Ranks  its  abuse  among  the  foulest  deeds, 

Considers  all  injustice  with  a  frowir; 

But  marks  the  man  that  treads  his  fellow  down. 

Begone — the  whip  and  bell  in  that  hard  hand 

Are  hateful  ensigns  of  usurped  command. 

Not  Mexico  could  purchase  kings  a  claim 

To  scourge  him,  weariness  his  only  blame. 

Remember  Heaven  has  an  avenging  rod : 

To  smite  the  poor  is  treason  against  God. 

Trouble  is  grudgingly  and  hardly  brooked, 
While  life's  sublimest  joys  are  overlooked 
We  wander  o'er  a  sunburnt  thirsty  soil, 
Murmuring  and  weary  of  our  daily  toil, 
Forget  t'  enjoy  the  palm-tree's  offered  shade, 
Or  taste  the  fountain  in  the  neighbouring  glade  : 
Else  who  would  lose,  that  had^the  power  t'  improve. 
The  occasion  of  transmuting  fear  to  love  ? 

0  'tis  a  god-like  privilege  to  savre, 
And  he  that  scorns  it  is  himself  a  slave. 
Inform  his  mind  ;  one  flash  of  heavenly  day 
Would  heal  his  heart,  and  melt  his  chains  away. 
"  Beauty  for  ashes"  is  a  gift  indeed, 

And  slaves,  by  truth  enlarged,  are  doubly  freed. 
Then  would  he  say,  submissive  at  thy  feet, 
While  gratitude  and  love  made  service  sweet, 
My  dear  deliverer  out  of  hopeless  night, 
Whose  bounty  brought  me  but  to  give  me  light, 

1  was  a  bondman  on  my  native  plain, 

Sin  forged,  and  Ignorance  made  fast  the  chain. 
Thy  lips  have  shed  instruction  as  the  dew, 


CHARITY.  109 

Taup-ht  me  what  path  to  shun,  and  what  pursue ; 

Farewell  my  former  joys  !  I  sigh  no  more 

For  Africa's  once  loved,  benighted  shore  ; 

Serving  a  benefactor  I  am  free  ; 

At  my  best  home,  if  not  exiled  from  thee, 

Some  men  make  gain  a  fountain,  whence  proceeds 
A  stream  of  liberal  and  heroic  deeds  ; 
The  swell  of  pity,  not  to  be  confined 
Within  the  scanty  limits  of  the  mind, 
Disdains  the  bank,  and  throws  the  golden  sands, 
A  rich  deposite,  on  the  bordering  lands : 
These  have. an  ear  for  his  paternal  call, 
Who  makes  some  rich  for  the  supply  of  all ; 
God's  gift  with  pleasure  in  his  praise  employ ; 
And  Thornton  is  familiar  with  the  joy. 

O  could  I  worship  aught  beneath  the  skies, 
That  earth  has  seen,  or  fancy  can  devise, 
Thine  altar,  sacred  liberty,  should  stand, 
Built  by  no  mercenary  vulgar  hand, 
With  fragrant  turf,  and  flowers  as  wild  and  fair 
As  ever  dressed  a  bank,  or  scented  summer  air. 
Duly,  as  ever  on  the  mountain's  height 
The  peep  of  Morning  shed  a  dawning  light. 
Again,  when  Evening,  in  her  sober  vest, 
Drew  the  gray  curtain  of  the  fading  west, 
My  soul  should  yield  thee  willing  thanks  and  praise, 
For  the  chief  blessings  of  .my  fairest  days  : 
But  that  were  sacrilege — praise  is  not  thine, 
But  his  who  gave  thee,  and  preserves  thee  mine ; 
•Else  I  would  say,  and  as  I  spake  bid  fly 
A  captive  bird  into  the  boundless  sky, 
This  triple  realm  adores  thee — thou  art  come 
From  Sparta  hither,  and  art  here  at  home. 
We  feel  thy  force  still  active,  at  this  hour 
Enjoy  immunity  from  priestly  power, 
While  Conscience,  happier  than  in  ancient  years, 
Owns  no  superior  but  the  God  she  fears. 
Propitious  spirit !  yet  expup^e  a  wrong 

10 


JllO  CHARITY. 

Thy  rights  have  suffered,  arid  our  land,  too  long. 
Teach  ^mercy  to  ten  thousand  hearts,  that  share 
The  fears  and  hopes  of  a  commercial  care. 
Prisons  expect  the  wicked,  arid  were  built 
To  bind  the  lawless,  and  to  punish  guilt ; 
But  shipwreck,  earthquake,  battle,  fire,  and  flood, 
Are  mighty  mischiefs,  not  to  be  withstood  ; 
And  honest  merit  stands  on  slippery  ground, 
Where  covert  guile  and  artifice  abound. 
Let  just  restraint,  for  public  peace  designed, 
Chain  up  the  wolves  and  tigers  of  mankind ; 
The  foe  of  virtue  has  no  claim  to  thee, 
But  let  insolvent  Innocence  go  free. 

Patron  of  else  the  most  despised  of  men, 
Accept  the  tribute  of  a  stranger's  pen  ; 
Verse,  like  the  laurel ;  its  immortal  meed, 
Should  be  the  guerdon  of  a  noble  deed  ; 
I  may  alarm  thee,  but  I  fear  the  shame 
(Charity  chosen  as  my  theme  and  aim) 
I  must  incur,  forgetting  Howards  name. 
Blest  with  all  wealth  can  give  thee,  to  resign 
Joys  doubly  sweet  to  feelings  quick  as  thine, 
To  quit  the  bliss  thy  rural  scenes  bestow, 
To  seek  a  nobler  amidst  scenes  of  wo, 
To  traverse  seas,  range  kingdoms,  and  bring  home, 
Not  the  proud  monuments  of  Greece  or  Rome, 
But  knowledge  such  as  only  dungeons  teach, 
And  only  sympathy  like  thine  could  reach  ; 
That  grief  sequestered  from  the  public  stage, 
Might  smooth  her  feathers,  and  enjoy  her  cage ; 
Speaks  a  divine  ambition,  and  a  zeal, 
The  boldest  patriot  might  be  proud  to  feel. 
O  that  the  voice  of  clamour  and  debate, 
That  pleads  for  peace  till  it  disturbs  the  state, 
Were  hushed  in  favour  of  thy  generous  plea, 
The  poor  thy  clients,  and  Heaven's  smile  thy  fee? 
Philosophy,  that  does  not  dream  or  stray, 
Walks  arm  in  arm  with  nature  all  his  way  ; 


CHARITY.  Ill 

Campasses  earth,  dives  into  it,  ascends 

Whatever  steep  Inquiry  recommends, 

Sees  planetary  wonders  smoothly  roll 

Round  other  systems  under  her  control, 

Drinks  wisdom  at  the  milky  stream  of  light, 

That  cheers  the  silent  journey  of  the  night, 

And  brings  at  his  return  a  bosom  charged 

With  rich  instruction,  and  a  soul  enlarged. 

The  treasured  sweets  of  the  capacious  plan, 

That  Heaven  spreads  wide  before  the  view  of  man, 

All  prompt  his  pleased  pursuit,  and  to  pursue 

Still  prompt  him,  with  a  pleasure  always  new  ; 

He  too  has  a  connecting  power,  and  draws 

Man  to  the  centre  of  the  common  cause, 

Aiding  a  dubious  and  deficient  sight 

With  a  new  medium  and  a  purer  light. 

All  truth  is  precious,  if  not  all  divine; 

And  what  dilates  the  powers  must  needs  refine. 

He  reads  the  skies,  and,  watching  every  change, 

Provides  the  faculties  an  ampler  range  ; 

And  wins  mankind,  as  his  attempts  prevail, 

A  prouder  station  on  the  general  scale 

But  Reason  still,  unless  divinely  taught, 

Whatever  she  learns,  learns  nothing  as  she  ought ; 

The  lamp  of  revelation  only  shows, 

What  human  wisdom  cannot  but  oppose, 

That  man,  in  nature's  richest  mantle  clad 

And  graced  with  all  philosophy  can  add, 

Though  fair  without  and  luminous  within, 

Is  still  the  progeny  and  heir  of  sin. 

Thus  taught,  down  falls  the  plumage  of  his  pride ; 

He  feels  his  need  of  an  unerring  giilde, 

And  knows  that  falling  he  shall  rise  no  more, 

Unless  the  power  that  bade  him  stand  restore. 

This  is  indeed  philosophy  ;  this  known 

Makes  wisdom,  worthy  of  the  name,  his  own ; 

And,  without  this,  whatever  he  discuss  ; 

Whether  the  space  between  the  stars  and  us  ; 


112  CHARITY. 

Whether  he  measure  earth,  compute  the  sea ; 
Weigh  sunbeams,  carve  a  fly,  or  spit  a  flea; 
The  solemn  trifler  with  his  boasted  skill 
Toils  much,  and  is  a  solemn  trifler  still : 
Blind  was  he  born,  and  his  misguided  eyes 
Grown  dim  in  trifling  studies,  blind  he  dies. 
Self-knowledge  truly  learned  of  course  implies 
The  rich  possession  of  a  nobler  prize; 
For  self  to  self,  and  God  to  man  revealed, 
(Two  themes  to  Nature's  eye  for  ever  sealed) 
Are  taught  by  rays,  that  fly  with  equal  pace 
From  the  same  centre  of  enlightening  grace. 
Here  stay  thy  foot ;  how  copious,  and  how  clear, 
Th'  overflowing  well  of  Charity  springs  here  ! 
Hark  !  'tis  the  music  of  a  thousand  rills, 
Some  through  the  groves,  some  down  the  sloping 

hills, 

Winding  a  secret  or  an  open  course, 
And  all  supplied  from  an  eternal  source. 
The  ties  of  Nature  do  but  feebly  bind, 
And  commerce  partially  reclaims  mankind  ; 
Philosophy,  without  his  heavenly  guide, 
May  blow  up  self-conceit,  and  nourish  pride  ; 
But,  while  his  promise  is  the  reasoning  part, 
Has  still  a  veil  of  midnight  on  his  heart : 
JTis  Truth  divine,  exhibited  on  earth, 
Gives  Charity  her  being  and  her  birth. 

Suppose  (when  thought  is  warm  and  fancy  flows, 
What  will  not  argument  sometimes  suppose  ?) 
An  isle  possessed  by  creatures  of  our  kind, 
Endued  with  reason,  yet  by  nature  blind, 
Let  supposition  lend  her  aid  once  more, 
And  land  some  grave  optician  on  the  shore : 
He  claps  his  lens,  if  haply  they  may  see, 
Close  to  the  part  where  vision  ought  to  be  ; 
But  finds,  that,  though  his  tubes  assist  the  sight, 
They  cannot  give  it,  or  make  darkness  light. 
He  reads  wise  lectures,  and  describes  aloud 


CHARITY.  113 

A  sense  they  know  not,  to  the  wondering  crowd ; 
He  talks  of  light,  and  the  prismatic  hues, 
As  men  of  depth  in  erudition  use ; 

But  all  he  gains  for  his  harangue  is — Well, 

What  monstrous  lies  some  travellers  will  tell  ! 

The  soul,  whose  sight  all-quickening  grace  re- 
news, 

Takes  the  resemblance  of  the  good  she  views, 
As  diamonds,  stripped  of  their  opaque  disguise, 
Reflect  the  noonday  glory  of  the  skies. 
She  speaks  of  him,  her  author,  guardian,  friend, 
Whose  love  knew  no  beginning,  knows  no  end, 
In  language  warm  as  all  that  love  inspires, 
And  in  the  glow  of  her  intense  desires, 
Pants  to  communicate  her  noble  fires. 
She  sees  a  world  stark  blind  to  what  employs 
Her  eager  thought,  and  feeds  her  flowing  joys ; 
Though  Wisdom  hail  them,  heedless  of  her  call, 
Flies  to  save  some,  and  feels  a  pang  for  all : 
Herself  as  weak  as  her  support  is  strong, 
She  feels  that  frailty  she  denied  so  long  ; 
And,  from  a  knowledge  of  her  own  disease, 
Learns  to  compassionate  the  sick  she  sees. 
Here  see,  acquitted  of  all  vain  pretence, 
The  reign  of  genuine  Charity  commence. 
Though  scorn  repay  her  sympathetic  tears, 
She  still  is  kind,  and  still  she  perseveres  ; 
The  truth  she  loves  a  sightless  world  blaspheme, 
'Tis  childish  dotage,  a  delirious  dream  ; 
The  danger  they  discern  riot,  they  deny  ; 
Laugh  at  their  only  remedy,  and  die. 
But  still  a  soul  thus  touched  can  never  cease, 
Whoever  threatens  war,  to  speak  of  peace. 
Pure  in  her  aim,  and  in  her  temper  mild, 
Her  wisdom  seems  the  weakness  of  a  child  : 
She  makes  excuses  where  she  might  condemn, 
Reviled  by  those  that  hate  her,  prays  for  them : 
Suspicion  lurks  not  in  her  artless  breast, 
10* 


114  CHARITY. 

The  worst  suggested,  she  believes  the  best , 
Not  soon  provoked,  however  stung  and  teaseu, 
And,  if  perhaps  made  angry,  soon  appeased ; 
She  rather  waives  than  will  dispute  her  right, 
And,  injured,  makes  forgiveness  her  delight. 

Such  was  the  portrait  an  apostle  drew, 
The  bright  original  was  one  he  knew  ; 
Heaven  held  his  hand,  the  likeness  must  be  true. 

When  one,  that  holds  communion  with  the  skies, 
Has  filled  his  urn  where  these  pure  waters  rise, 
And  once  more  mingles  with  us  meaner  things, 
'Tis  e'en  as  if  an  angel  shook  his  wings  ; 
Immortal  fragrance  fills  the  circuit  wide, 
That  tells  us  whence  his  treasures  are  supplied. 
So  when  a  ship,  well  freighted  with  the  stores 
The  sun  matures  on  India's  spicy  shores, 
Has  dropped  her  anchor,  and  her  canvass  furled 
In  some  safe  haven  of  our  western  world, 
Twere  vain  inquiry  to  what  port  she  went 
The  gale  informs  us,  laden  with  the  scent. 

Some  seek,  when  queasy  conscience  has  its  qualms, 
To  lull  the  painful  malady  with  alms ; 
But  charity  not  feigned  intends  alone 
Another's  good — theirs  centres  in  their  own ; 
And,  too  short  lived  to  reach  the  realms  of  peace, 
Must  cease  for  ever  when  the  poor  shall  cease. 
Flavia,  most  tender  of  her  own  good  name, 
Is  rather  careless  of  her  sister's  fame : 
Her  superfluity  the  poor  supplies, 
But,  if  she  touch  a  character,  it  dies. 
The  seeming  virtue  weighed  against  the  vice, 
She  deems  all  safe,  for  she  has  paid  the  price : 
No  charity  but  alms  aught  values  she, 
Except  in  porcelain  on  her  mantel-tree. 
How  many  deeds,  with  which  the  world  has  rung, 
From  Pride,  in  league  with  Ignorance,  have  sprung ! 
But  God  o'errules  all  human  follies  still, 
And  bends  the  tough  materials  to  his  will. 


CHARITY. 

A  conflagration,  or  a  wintry  flood, 
Has  left  some  hundreds  without  home  or  food ; 
Extravagance  and  Avarice  shall  subscribe, 
While  fame  and  self-complacence  are  the  bribe. 
The  brief  proclaimed,  it  visits  every  pew, 
But  first  the  squire's  a  compliment  but  due : 
With  slow  deliberation  he  unties 
His  glittering  purse,  that  envy  of  all  eyes, 
And,  while  the  clerk  just  puzzles  out  the  psalm, 
Slides  guinea  behind  guinea  in  his  palm  ; 
Till  finding,  what  he  might  have  found  before, 
A  smaller  piece  amidst  the  precious  store, 
Pinched  close  between  his  finger  and  his  thumb, 
He  half  exhibits,  and  then  drops  the  sum. 
Gold  to  be  sure  ? — Throughout  the  town  'tis  told, 
How  the  good  squire  gives  never  less  than  gold, 
From  motives  such  as  his,  though  not  the  best, 
Springs  in  due  time  supply  for  the  distressed  ; 
Not  less  effectual  than  what  love  bestows, 
Except  that  office  clips  it  as  it  goes. 

But  lest  I  seem  to  sin  against  a  friend, 
And  wound  the  grace  1  mean  to  recommend, 
(Though  vice  derided  with  a  just  design 
Implies  no  trespass  against  love  divine,) 
Once  more  I  would  adopt  the  graver  style, 
A  teacher  should  be  sparing  of  his  smile. 
Unless  a  love  of  virtue  light  the  flame, 
Satire  is,  more  than  those  he  brands,  to  blame ; 
He  hides  behind  a  magisterial  air 
His  own  offences,  and  strips  others  bare  ; 
Affects,  indeed,  a  most  humane  concern, 
That  men,  if  gently  tutored,  will  not  learn : 
That  mulish  Folly,  not  to  be  reclaimed 
By  softer  methods,  must  be  made  ashamed ; 
But  (I  might  instance  in  St.  Patrick's  dean) 
Too  often  rails  to  gratify  his  spleen. 
Most  satirists  are  indeed  a  public  scourge ; 
Their  mildest  physic  is  a  farrier's  purge 


116  CHARITY. 

Their  acrid  temper  turns,  as  soon  as  stirred, 
The  milk  of  their  good  purpose  all  to  curd. 
Their  zeal  begotten,  as  their  works  rehearse. 
By  lean  despair  upon  an  empty  purse, 
The  wild  assassins  start  into  the  street, 
Prepared  to  poniard  whornsoe'er  they  meet. 
No  skill  in  s  \vordmanship,  however  just, 
Can  be  secure  against  a  madman's  thrust ; 
And  even  Virtue,  so  unfaHy  matched, 
Although  immortal,  may  be  pricked  or  scratched* 
When  scandal  has  new  minted  an  old  lie, 
Or  taxed  invention  for  a  fresh  supply, 
'Tis  called  a  satire,  and  the  wo  rid  appears 
Gathering  around  it  with  erected  ears  : 
A  thousand  names  are  tossed  into  the  crowd ; 
Some  whispered  softly,  and  some  twanged  aloud  ; 
Just  as  the  sapience  of  an  author's  brain 
Suggests  it  safe  or  dangerous  to  be  plain. 
Strange  !  how  the  frequent  interjected  dash 
Quickens  a  market  and  helps  off  the  trash  ; 
The  important  letters,  that  include  the  rest, 
Serve  as  a  key  to  those  that  are  suppressed  ; 
Conjecture  gripes  the  victims  in  his  paw, 
The  world  is  charmed,  and  Scrib  escapes  the  law. 
So,  when  the  cold  damp  shades  of  night  prevail, 
Worms  may  be  caught  by  either  heacl  or  tail ; 
Forcibly  drawn  from  many  a  close  recess, 
They  meet  with  little  pity,  no  redress  ; 
Plunged  in  the  stream,  they  lodge  upon  the  mud, 
Food  for  the  famished  rovers  of  the  flood. 
All  zeal  for  a  reform,  that  gives  offence 
To  peace  and  charity,  is  mere  pretence  : 
A  bold  remark,  but  which,  if  well  applied, 
Would  humble  many  a  towering  poet's  pride. 
Perhaps  the  man  was  in  a  sportive  fit, 
And  had  no  other  play-place  for  his  wit ; 
Perhaps  enchanted  with  the  love  of  fame, 
He  sought  the  jewel  in  his  neighbour's  shame  • 


CHARITY.  117 

Perhaps — whatever  end  he  might  pursue, 

The  cause  of  virtue  could  not  be  his  view. 

At  every  stroke  wit  flashes  in  our  eyes ; 

The  turns  are  quick,  the  polished  points  surprise, 

But  shine  with  cruel  and  tremendous  charms, 

That,  while  they  please,  possess  us  with  alarms  ; 

So  have  I  seen  (and  hastened  to  the  sight 

On  all  the  wings  of  holiday  delight,) 

Where  stands  that  monument  of  ancient  power, 

Named  with  emphatic  dignity,  the  Tower, 

Guns,  halberts,  swords,  and  pistols,  great  and  small, 

In  starry  forms  disposed  upon  the  wall ; 

We  wonder,  as  we  gazing  stand  below, 

That  brass  and  steel  should  make  so  fine  a  show ; 

But  though  we  praise  th'  exact  designer's  skill, 

Account  them  implements  of  mischief  still. 

No  works  shall  find  acceptance  in  that  day, 
When  all  disguises  shall  be  rent  away, 
That  square  not  truly  with  the  Scripture  plan, 
Nor  spring  from  love  to  God,  or  love  to  man. 
As  he  ordains  things  sordid  in  their  birth 
To  be  resolved  into  their  parent  earth ; 
And,  though  the  soul  shall  s^ek  superior  orbs, 
Whate'er  this  world  producer   it  absorbs  ; 
So  self  starts  nothing,  but  what  tends  apace 
Home  to  the  goal,  where  it  began  the  race. 
Such  as  our  motive  is,  our  aim  must  be ; 
If  this  be  servile,  that  can  ne'er  be  free  : 
If  self  employ  us,  whatsoe'er  is  wrought, 
We  glorify  that  self,  not  him  we  ought : 
Such  virtues  had  need  prove  their  own  reward, 
The  Judge  of  all  men  owes  them  no  regard. 
True  Charity,  a  plant  divinely  nursed, 
Fed  by  the  love  from  which  it  rose  at  first, 
Thrives  against  hope,  and,  in  the  rudest  scene, 
Storms  but  enliven  its  unfading  green  : 
Exuberant  is  the  shadow  it  supplies, 
In  fruits  on  earth,  its  growth  above  the  skies. 


118  CHARITY. 

To  look  at  Him,  who  formed  us  and  redeemed, 

So  glorious  now,  though  once  so  disesteemed, 

To  see  God  stretch  forth  his  human  hand, 

T'  uphold  the  boundless  scenes  of  his  command  ; 

To  recollect,  that,  in  a  form  like  ours, 

He  bruised  beneath  his  feet  th'  infernal  powers, 

Captivity  led  captive,  rose  to  claim 

The  wreath  he  won  so  dearly  in  our  name ; 

That,  throned  above  all  height,  he  condescends 

To  call  the  few  that  trust  in  him  his  friends  ; 

That,  in  the  Heaven  of  heavens,  that  space  he  deems 

Too  scanty  for  th'  exertion  of  his  beams, 

And  shines  as  if  impatient  to  bestow 

Life  and  a  kingdom  upon  worms  below ; 

That  sight  imparts  a  never-dying  flame, 

Though  feeble  in  degree,  in  kind  the  same 

Like  him  the  soul,  thus  kindled  from  above, 

Spreads  wide  her  arms  of  universal  love  ; 

And,  still  enlarged  as  she  receives  the  grace, 

Includes  creation  in  her  close  embrace, 

Behold  a  Christian  !  and  without  the  fires 

The  founder  of  that  name  alone  inspires, 

Though  all  accomplishment,  all  knowledge  meet, 

To  make  the  shining  p  odigy  complete, 

Whoever  boasts  that  name — behold  a  cheat ! 

Where  love,  in  these  the  world's  last  doting  years, 

As  frequent  as  the  want  of  it  appears, 

The  churches  warmed,  they  would  no  longer  hold 

Such  frozen  figures,  stiff  as  they  are  cold ; ' 

Relenting  forms  would  lose  their  power  or  cease  ; 

And  e'en  the  dipped  and  sprinkled  live  in  peace  : 

Each  heart  would  quit  its  prison  in  the  breast, 

And  flow  in  free  communion  with  the  rest. 

The  statesman,  skilled  in  projects  dark  and  deep, 

Might  burn  his  useless  Machiavel,  and  sleep ; 

His  budget  often  filled,  yet  always  poor, 

Might  swing  at  ease  behind  his  study  door, 

No  longer  prey  upon  our  annual  rents, 


CONVERSATION.  119 

Or  scare  Jie  nation  with  its  big  contents : 
Disbanded  legions  freely  might  depart, 
And  slaying  man  would  cease  to  be  an  art. 
No  learned  disputants  would  take  the  field, 
Sure  not  to  conquer,  and  sure  not  to  yield  j 
Both  sides  decieved,  if  rightly  understood. 
Pelting  each  other  for  the  public  good. 
Did  Charity  prevail,  the  press  would  prove 
A  vehicle  of  virtue,  truth,  and  love  ; 
And  I  might  spare  myself  the  pains  to  show 
What  few  can  learn,  and  all  suppose  they  know. 
Thus  I  have  sought  to  grace  a  serious  lay 
With  many  a  wild,  indeed,  but  flowery  spray, 
In  hopes  to  gain,  what  else  I  must  have  lost, 
Th'  attention  pleasure  has  so  much  engrossed. 
But  if,  unhappily  decieved,  I  dream, 
And  prove  too  weak  for  so  divine  a  theme, 
Let  Charity  forgive  me  a  mistake, 
That  zeal,  not  vanity,  has  chanced  to  make, 
And  spare  the  poet  for  his  subject's  sake. 


CONVERSATION. 

Nam  neque  me  Uintum  venientis  sibrlus  austri, 
Nee  percussse  iuvant  fluctu  tarn  fitora,  nee  quse 
Saxosas  inter  decurrunt  flurnina  valles.  Virg.  Eel.  5. 

THOUGH  Nature  weigh  our  talents,  and  dispense 
To  every  man  his  modicum  of  sense, 
And  conversation  in  its  better  part 
May  be  esteemed  a  gift,  and  not  an  art 
Yet  much  depends,  as  in  the  tiller's  toil, 
On  culture,  and  the  sowing  of  the  soil. 
Words  learned  by  rote  a  parrot  may  rehearse, 
But  talking  is  not  always  to  converse  ; 
Not  more  distinct  from  harmony  divine, 
The  constant  creaking  of  a  country  sign. 
As  alphabets  in  ivory  employ, 


120  CONVERSATION. 

Hour  after  hour,  the  yet  unlettered  boy, 

Sorting  and  puzzling  with  a  deal  of  glee 

Those  seeds  of  science  called  his  ABC; 

So  language  in  the  mouths  of  the  adult, 

Witness  its  insignificant  result, 

Too  often  proves  an  implement  of  play, 

A  toy  to  sport  with,  and  pass  time  away. 

Collect  at  evening  what  the  day  brought  forth, 

Compress  the  sum  into  its  solid  worth, 

And  if  it  weigh  th1  importance  of  a  fly, 

The  scales  are  false,  or  algebra  a  lie. 

Sacred  interpreter  of  human  thought, 

How  few  respect  or  use  thee  as  they  ought ! 

But  all  shall  give  account  of  every  wrong, 

Who  dare  dishonour  or  defile  the  tongue ; 

Who  prostitute  it  in  the  cause  of  vice, 

Or  sell  the  glory  at  the  market-price  ; 

Who  vote  for  hire,  or  point  it  with  lampoon, 

The  dear-bought  placeman,  and  the  cheap  buffoon. 

There  is  a  prurience  in  the  speech  of  some, 
Wrath  stays  him,  or  else  God  would  strike  him  dumb  : 
His  wise  forbearance  has  their  end  in  view, 
They  fill  their  measure,  and  receive  their  due. 
The  heathen  law-givers  of  ancient  days, 
Names  almost  worthy  of  a  Christian's  praise, 
Would  drive  them  forth  from  the  resort  of  meri, 
And  shut  up  every  satyr  in  his  den. 
O  come  not  ye  near  innocence  and  truth, 
Ye  worms  that  eat  into  the  bud  of  youth  ! 
Infectious  as  impure,  your  blighting  power 
Taints  in  its  rudiments  the  promised  flower, 
Its  odour  perished  and  its  charming  hue, 
Thenceforth  'tis  hateful,  for  it  smells  of  you. 
Not  e'en  the  vigorous  and  headlong  rage 
Of  adolescence,  or  a  firmer  age, 
Affords  a  plea  allowable  or  just 
For  making  speech  the  pamperer  of  lust ; 
But  when  the  breath  of  age  commits  the  fault, 


CONVERSATION.  121 

'Tis  nauseous  as  the  vapour  of  a  vault. 
So  withered  stumps  disgrace  the  sylvan  scene, 
No  longer  fruitful,  and  no  longer  green  ; 
The  sapless  wood,  divested  of  the  bark, 
Grows  fungous,  and  takes  fire  at  every  spark. 

Oaths  terminate,  as  Paul  observes,  all  strife — 
Some  men  have  surely  then  a  peaceful  life ; 
Whatever  subject  occupy  discourse, 
The  feats  of  Vestris,  or  the  naval  force, 
Asseveration  blustering  in  your  face 
Makes  contradiction  such  a  hopeless  case  : 
In  every  tale  they  tell,  or  false  or  true, 
Well  known,  or  such  as  no  man  ever  knew, 
They  fix  attention,  heedless  of  your  pain, 
With  oaths  like  rivets  forced  into  the  brain ; 
And  e'en  when  sober  truth  prevails  throughout, 
They  swear  it  till  affirmance  breeds  a  doubt. 
A  Persian,  humble  servant  of  the  sun, 
Who,  though  devout,  yet  bigotry  had  none, 
Hearing  a  lawyer,  grave  inliis  address, 
With  abjuration  every  word  impress, 
Supposed  the  man  a  bishop,  or,  at  least, 
God's  name  so  much  upon  his  lips,  a  priest ; 
Bowed  at  the  close  with  all  his  graceful  airs, 
And  begged  an  interest  in  his  frequent  prayers. 

Go,  quit  the  rank  to  which  ye  stood  preferred. 
Henceforth  associate  in  one  common  herd  ; 
Religion,  virtue,  reason,  common  sense, 
Pronounce  your  human  form  a  false  pretence  ; 
A  mere  disguise,  in  which  a  devil  lurks, 
Who  yet  betrays  his  secret  by  his  works. 

Ye  powers  who  rule  the  tongue,  if  such  there  are, 
And  make  colloquial  happiness  your  care, 
Preserve  me  from  the  thing  I  dread  and  hate, 
A  duel  in  the  form  of  a  debate. 
The  clash  of  arguments  and  jar  of  words, 
Worse  than  the  mortal  brunt  of  rival  swords, 
Decide  no  question  with  their  tedious  length. 


J22  CONVERSATION. 

(For  opposition  gives  opinion  strength) 
Divert  the  champions,  prodigal  of  breath, 
And  put  the  peaceably-disposed  to  death. 

0  thwart  me  not,  sir  Soph,  at  every  turn, 
Nor  carp  at  every  flaw  you  may  discern ; 
Though  syllogisms  hang  not  on  my  tongue, 

1  am  not  surely  always  in  the  wrong  ; 
'Tis  hard  if  all  is  false  that  I  advance, 

A  fool  must  now  and  then  be  right  by  chance. 

Not  that  all  freedom  of  dissent  I  blame  ; 

No — there  I  grant  the  privilege  I  claim. 

A  disputable  point  is  no  man's  ground  ; 

Rove  where  you  please,  'tis  common  all  around 

Discourse  may  want  an  animated  —No, 

To  brush  the  surface,  and  to  make  it  flow ; 

But  still  remember,  if  you  mean  to  please, 

To  press  your  point  with  modesty  and  ease. 

The  mark,  at  which  my  juster  aim  I  take, 

Is  contradiction  for  its  own  dear  sake. 

Set  your  opinion  at  whatever  pitch, 

Knots  and  impediments  make  something  hitch  , 

Adopt  his  own,  'tis  equally  in  vain, 

Your  thread  of  argument  is  snapped  again  ; 

The  wrangler,  rather  than  accord  with  you, 

Will  judge  himself  deceived,  and  prove  it  too. 

Vociferated  logic  kills  me  quite, 

A  noisy  man  is  always  in  the  right : 

I  twirl  my  thumbs,  fall  back  into  my  chair, 

Fix  on  the  wainscoat  a  distressful  stare, 

And,  when  I  hope  his  blunders  are  all  out, 

Reply  discreetly — To  be  sure — no  doubt ! 

Dubius  is  such  a  scrupulous  good  man — 
Yes — you  may  catch  him  tripping  if  you  can. 
He  would  not,  with  a  peremptory  tone, 
Assert  the  nose  upon  his  face  his  own ; 
With  hesitation  admirably  slow, 
He  humbly  hopes — presumes — it  may  be  so. 
His  evidence,  if  he  were  called  by  law 


CONVERSATION.  123 

To  swear  to  some  enormity  he  saw, 

For  want  of  prominence  and  just  relief, 

Would  hang  an  honest  man  and  save  a  thief. 

Through  constant  dread  of  giving  truth  offence, 

He  ties  up  all  his  hearers  in  suspense ; 

Knows  what  he  knows,  as  if  he  knew  it  not' 

What  he  remembers,  seems  to  have  forgot ; 

His  sole  opinion,  whatsoe'er  befall, 

Centering  at  last  in  having  none  at  all. 

Yet,  though  he  tease  and  baulk  your  listening  ear, 

He  makes  one  useful  point  exceeding  clear  j 

Howe'er  ingenious  on  his  darling  theme 

A  sceptic  in  philosophy  may  seem, 

Reduced  to  practice,  his  beloved  rule 

Would  only  prove  him  a  consummate  fool ; 

Useless  in  him  alike  both  brain  and  speech, 

Fate  having  placed  all  truth  above  his  reach, 

His  ambiguities  his  total  sum, 

He  might  as  well  be  blind,  and  deaf,  and  dumb. 

Where  men  of  judgment  creep  and  feel  their  way, 
The  positive  pronounce  without  dismay ; 
Their  want  of  light  arid  intellect  supplied 
By  sparks  absurdity  strikes  out  of  pride. 
Without  the  means  of  knowing  right  from  wrong, 
They  always  are  decisive,  clear,  and  strong  ; 
Where  others  toil  with  philosophic  force, 
Their  nimble  nonsense  takes  a  shorter  course ; 
Flings  at  your  head  conviction  in  the  lump, 
And  gains  remote  conclusions  at  a  jump  : 
Their  own  defect,  invisible  to  them, 
Seen  in  another,  they  at  once  condemn  ; 
And,  though  self-idolized  in  every  case. 
Hate  their  own  likeness  in  a  brother's  face. 
The  cause  is  plain,  and  not  to  be  denied, 
The  proud  are  always  most  provoked  by  pride ; 
Few  competitions  but  engender  spite  ; 
And  those  the  most  where  neither  has  a  right. 

The  point  of  honour  has  been  deemed  of  use, 


124  CONVERSATION. 

To  teach  good  manners,  and  to  curb  abuse ; 

Admit  it  true,  the  consequence  is  clear, 

Our  polished  manners  are  a  mask  we  wear, 

And  at  the  bottom  barbarous  still  and  rude, 

We  are  restrained,  indeed,  but  not  subdued. 

The  very  remedy,  however  sure, 

Springs  from  the  mischief  it  intends  to  cure, 

And  savage  in  its  principle  appears, 

Tried,  as  it  should  be,  by  the  fruit  it  bears. 

'Tis  hard,  indeed,  if  nothing  will  defend 

Mankind  from  quarrels  but  their  fatal  end  ; 

That  now  and  then  a  hero  must  decease, 

That  the  surviving  world  may  live  in  peace, 

Perhaps  at  last  close  scrutiny  may  show 

The  practice  dastardly,  and  mean,  and  low  • 

That  men  engage  in  it  compelled  by  force, 

And  fear,  not  courage,  is  its  proper  source  ; 

The  fear  of  tyrant  custom,  and  the  fear 

Lest  fops  should  censure  us,  and  fools  should  sneer. 

At  least,  to  trample  on  our  Maker's  laws, 

And  hazard  life  for  any  or  no  cause, 

To  rush  into  a  fixed  eternal  state 

Out  of  the  very  flames  of  rage  and  hate, 

Or  send  another  shivering  to  the  bar 

With  all  the  guilt  of  such  unnatural  war, 

Whatever  use  may  urge  or  honour  plead, 

On  reason's  verdict  is  a  madman's  deed. 

Am  I  to  set  my  life  upon  a  throw, 

Because  a  bear  is  rude  and  surly  ?     No — 

A  moral,  sensible  and  well-bred  man 

Will  not  affront  me  ;  and  no  other  can. 

Were  I  empowered  to  regulate  the  lists, 

They  should  encounter  with  well-loaded  fists  ; 

A  Trojan  combat  would  be  something  new, 

Let  Dares  beat  Entelhis  black  and  blue  ; 

Then  each  might  show,  to  his  admiring  friends, 

In  honourable  bumps  his  rich  amends, 

And  carry  in  contusions  of  his  skull, 


CONVERSATION.  125 

A  satisfactory  receipt  in  full. 

A  story,  in  which  native  humour  reigns, 
Is  ofbn  useful,  always  entertains  ; 
A  graver  fact,  enlisted  on  your  side, 
May  furnish  illustration,  well  applied ; 
But  sedentary  weavers  of  long  tales 
Give  me  the  fidgets,  and  my  patience  fails. 
'Tis  the  most  asinine  employ  on  earth, 
To  hear  them  tell  of  parentage  and  birth, 
And  echo  conversations  dull  and  dry, 
Embellished  with — He  said,  and  So  said  L 
At  every  interview  their  route  the  same, 
The  repetition  makes  attention  lame : 
We  bustle  up  with  unsuccessful  speed, 
And  in  the  saddest  part  cry — Droll  indeed  ! 
The  path  of  narrative  with  care  pursue, 
Still  making  probability  your  clew : 
On  all  the  vestiges  of  truth  attend, 
And  let  them  guide  you  to  a  decent  end. 
Of  all  ambitions  man  may  entertain, 
The  worst  that  can  invade  a  sickly  brain, 
Is  that,  which  angles  hourly  for  surprise, 
And  baits  its  hook  with  prodigies  and  lies. 
Credulous  infancy,  or  age  as  weak, 
Are  fittest  auditors  for  such  to  seek, 
Who  to  please  others  will  themselves  disgrace, 
Yet  please  not,  but  affront  you  to  your  face. 
A  great  retailer  of  this  curious  ware 
Having  unloaded  and  made  many  a  stare, 
Can  this  be  true  ? — an  arch  observer  cries, 
Yes,  (rather  moved)  I  saw  it  with  these  eyes  ; 
Sir  !  I  believe  it  on  that  ground  alone  ; 
I  could  not,  had  I  seen  it  with  my  own. 

A  tale  should  be  judicious,  clear,  succinct ; 
The  language  plain,  and  incidents  well  linked ; 
Tell  not  as  new  what  every  body  knows, 
And,  new  or  old,  still  hasten  to  a  close ; 
There  centering  in  a  focus  round  and  neat, 


126  CONVERSATION. 

1  ,et  all  your  rays  of  information  meet. 
What  neither  yields  us  profit  nor  delight 
Is  like  a  nurse's  lullaby  at  night ; 
Guy  Earl  of  Warwick  and  fair  Eleanore, 
Or  giant-killing  Jack,  would  please  me  more, 

The  pipe,  with  solemn  interposing  puff, 
Makes  half  a  sentence  at  a  time  enough  ; 
The  dozing  sages  drop  the  drowsy  strain, 
Then  pause,  and  puff— then  speak,  and  pause  again* 
Such  often,  like  the  tube  they  so  admire, 
Important  triflers  :  have  more  smoke  than  fire. 
Pernicious  weed !  whose  scent  the  fair  annoys, 
Unfriendly  to  society's  chief  joys, 
Thy  worst  effect  is  banishing  for  hours 
The  sex,  whose  presence  civilizes  ours : 
Thou  art  indeed  the  drug  a  gardener  wants, 
To  poison  vermin  that  infest  his  plants  ; 
But  are  we  so  to  wit  and  beauty  blind, 
As  to  despise  the  glory  of  our  kind, 
And  show  the  softest  minds  and  fairest  forms 
As  little  mercy,  as  the  grubs  and  worms  ? 
They  dare  not  wait  the  riotous  abuse, 
Thy  thirst-creating  steams  at  length  produce, 
When  wine  has  given  indecent  language  birth, 
And  forced  the  flood-gates  of  licentious  mirth ; 
For  sea-born  Venus  her  attachment  shows 
Still  to  that  element  from  which  she  rose, 
And  with  a  quiet  which  no  fumes  disturb, 
Sips  meek  infusions  of  a  milder  herb. 

Th'  emphatic  speaker  dearly  loves  t'  oppose 
In  contact  inconvenient,  nose  to  nose, 
As  if  the  gnomon  on  his  neighbour's  phiz, 
Touched  with  the  magnet,  had  attracted  his, 
His  whispered  theme,  dilated  and  at  large, 
Proves  after  all  a  wind-gun's  airy  charge^ 
An  extract  of  his  diary — no  more, 
A  tasteless  journal  of  the  day  before. 
He  walked  abroad,  overtaken  in  the  rain. 


CONVERSATION.  127 

Called  on  a  friend,  drank  tea,  stepped  home  again, 

Resumed  his  purpose,  had  a  word  of  talk 

With  one  he  stumbled  on,  and  lost  his  walk. 

I  interrupt  him  with  a  sudden  bow, 

Adieu,  dear  sir !  lest  you  should  lose  it  now. 

I  Cannot  talk  with  civet  in  the  room, 
A  fine  puss-gentleman  that's  all  perfume ; 
The  sight's  enough — no  need  to  smell  a  beau — 
Who  thrusts  his  nose  into  a  rareeshow  ? 
His  odoriferous  attempts  to  please, 
Perhaps  might  prosper  with  a  swarm  of  bees : 
But  we  that  make  no  honey,  though  we  sting, 
Poets,  are  sometimes  apt  to  maul  the  thing. 
vTis  wrong  to  bring  into  a  mixed  resort, 
What  makes  some  sick,  and  others  a  la-mort : 
An  argument  of  cogence,  we  may  say, 
Why  such  a  one  should  keep  himself  away. 

A  graver  coxcomb  we  may  sometimes  see, 
duite  as  absurd,  though  not  so  light  as  he ; 
A  shallow  brain  behind  a  serious  mask, 
An  oracle  within  an  empty  cask, 
The  solemn  fop ;  significant  and  budge ; 
A  fool  with  judges,  "amongst  fools  a  judge  ; 
He  says  but  little,  and  that  little  said 
Owes   all  its  weight,  like  loaded  dice,  to  lead. 
His  wit  invites  you  by  his  looks  to  come, 
But  when  you  knock,  it  never  is  at  home. 
'Tis  like  a  parcel  sent  you  by  the  stage, 
Some  handsome  present,  as  your  hopes  presage ; 
•Tis  heavy,  bulky,  and  bids  fair  to  prove 
An  absent  friend's  fidelity  and  love  ; 
But  when  unpacked,  your  disappointment  groans 
To  find  it  stuffed  with  brickbats,  earth,  and  stones 

Some  men  employ  their  health,  an  ugly  trick, 
In  making  known  how  oft  they  have  been  sick, 
And  give  us,  in  recitals  of  disease, 
A  doctor's  trouble,  but  without  the  fees ; 
Relate  how  many  weeks  they  kept  their  bed, 


128  CONVERSATION. 

How  an  emetic  or  cathartic  sped  ; 

Nothing  is  slightly  touched,  much  less  forgot, 

Nose,  ears,  and  eyes,  seem  present  on  the  spot. 

Now  the  distemper,  spite  of  draught  or  pill. 

Victorious  seemed,  and  now  the  doctor's  skill ; 

And  now — alas  for  unforeseen  mishaps  ! 

They  put  on  a  damp  nightcap  and  relapse  ; 

They  thought  they  must  have  died,  they  were  so  bad; 

Their  peevish  hearers  almost  wish  they  had. 

Some  fretful  tempers  wince  at  every  touch. 
You  always  do  too  little  or  too  much  : 
You  speak  with  life,  in  hopes  to  entertain, 
Your  elevated  voice  goes  through  the  brain  ; 
You  fall  at  once  into  a  lower  key, 
That's  worse— the  drone-pipe  of  an  bumblebee. 
The  southern  sash  admits  too  strong  a  light, 
You  rise  and  drop  the  curtain — now  'tis  night. 
He  shakes  with  cold — you  stir  the  fire  and  strive 
To  make  a  blaze — that's  roasting  him  alive. 
Serve  him  with  venison,  and  he  ^chooses  fish  ; 
With  soal — that's  just  the  sort  he  does  not  ir*»h. 
He  takes  what  he  at  first  professed  to  loath, 
And  in  due  time  feeds  heartily  on  both  ; 
Yet  still,  o'erclouded  with  a  constant  frown, 
He  does  not  swallow,  but  he  gulps  it  down. 
Your  hope  to  please  him,  vain  on  every  plan, 
Himself  should  work  that  wonder  if  he  can— 
Alas  !  his  efforts  double  his  distress, 
He  likes  yours  little,  and  his  own  still  less. 
Thus  always  teasing  others,  always  teased, 
His  only  pleasure  is — to  be  displeased. 

I  pity  bashful  men,  who  feel  the  pain 
Of  fancied  scorn  and  undeserved  disdain, 
And  bear  the  marks  upon  a  blushing  face 
Of  needless  shame,  and  self-imposed  disgrace. 
Our  sensibilities  are  so  acute, 
The  fear  of  being  silent  makes  us  mute. 
We  sometimes  think  we  could  a  speech  produce 


CONVERSATION.  129 

Much  to  the  purpose,  if  our  tongues  were  loose ; 

But  being  tried,  it  dies  upon  the  lip, 

Faint  as  a  chicken's  note  that  has  the  pip : 

Our  wasted  oil  unprofitably  burns, 

Like  hidden  lam^s  in  old  sepulchral  urns. 

Few  Frenchmen  of  this  evil  have  complained , 

It  seems  as  if  we  Britons  were  ordained, 

By  way  of  wholesome  curb  upon  our  pride, 

To  fear  each  other,  fearing  none  beside. 

The  cause  perhaps  inquiry  may  descry, 

Self-searching  with  an  introverted  eye, 

Concealed  within  an  unsuspected  part, 

The  vainest  corner  of  our  own  vain  heart ; 

For  ever  aiming  at  the  world's  esteem, 

Our  self-importance  ruins  its  own  scheme  ; 

In  other  eyes  our  talents  rarely  shown, 

Become  at  length  so  splendid  in  our  own, 

We  dare  not  risk  them  into  public  view, 

Lest  they  miscarry  of  what  seems  their  due. 

True  modesty  is  a  discerning  grace, 

And  only  blushes  in  the  proper  place  ; 

But  counterfeit  is  blind,  and  skulks  through  fear, 

Where  'tis  a  shame  to  be  ashamed  t'  appear  : 

Humility  the  parent  of  the  first, 

The  last  by  vanity  produced  and  nursed. 

The  circle  formed,  we  sit  in  silent  state, 

Like  figures  drawn  upon  a  dial  plate  ; 

Yes  ma'am  and  no  ma'am,  uttered  softly  show 

Every  five  minutes  how  the  minutes  go  ; 

Each  individual  suffering  a  constraint 

Poetry  may,  but  colours  cannot  paint ; 

And  if  in  close  committee  on  the  sky, 

Reports  it  hot  or  cold,  or  wet  or  dry  ; 

And  finds  a  changing  clime  a  happy  source 

Of  wise  reflection,  and  well  timed  discourse. 

We  next  inquire,  but  softly  and  by  stealth, 

Like  conservators  of  the  public  health, 

Of  epidemic  throats,  if  such  there  are, 


130  CONVERSATION. 

And  coughs,  and  rheums,  and  phthisic,  and  catarrh. 

That  theme  exhausted,  a  wide  chasm  ensues, 

Filled  up  at  last  with  interesting  news, 

Who  danced  with  whom,  and  who  are  like  to  wed, 

And  who  is  hanged,  and  who  is  brought  to  bed ; 

But  fear  to  call  a  more  important  cause, 

As  as  if  'twere  treason  against  English  laws. 

The  visit  paid,  with  ecstacy  we  come, 

As  from  a  seven  years  transportation,  home, 

And  there  resume  an  unembarrassed  brow, 

Recovering  what  we  lost  we  know  not  how, 

The  faculties  that  seemed  reduced  to  naught, 

Expression  anu  the  privilege  of  thought. 

The  reeking,  roaring  hero  of  the  chase, 
I  give  him  over  as  a  desperate  case. 
Physicians  write  in  hopes  to  work  a  cure, 
Never,  if  honest  ones,  when  death  is  sure  ; 
And  though  the  fox  he  follows  may  be  tamed, 
A  mere  fox-follower  never  is  reclaimed. 
Some  farrier  should  prescribe  his  proper  course, 
Whose  only  fit  companion  is  his  horse  ; 
Or  if,  deserving  of  a  better  doom, 
The  noblest  beast  judge  otherwise,  his  groom. 
Yet  e'en  the  rogue  that  serves  him,  though  he  stand, 
To  take  his  honour's  orders,  cap  in  hand, 
Prefers  his  fellow-grooms  with  much  good  sense, 
Their  skill  a  truth,  his  master's  a  pretence. 
If  neither  horse  nor  groom  affect  the  squire, 
Where  can  at  last  his  jockeyship  retire  ? 
O  to  the  club,  the  scene  of  savage  joys, 
The  school  of  coarse  good  fellowship  and  noise ; 
There,  in  the  sweet  society  of  those 
Whose  friendship  from  his  boyish  years  he  chose. 
Let  him  improve  his  talent  if  he  can, 
Till  none  but  beasts  acknowledge  him  a  man. 

Man's  hoart  had  been  impenetrably  sealed, 
Like  theirs  that  cleave  the  flood  or  graze  the  field, 
Had  not  his  Maker's  all-bestowing  hand 


CONVERSATION.  131 

Given  him  a  soul,  and  bade  him  understand ; 

The  reasoning  power  vouchsafed  of  course  inferred 

The  power  to  clothe  that  reason  with  his  word : 

For  all  is  perfect  that  God  works  on  earth. 

And  he  that  gives  conception,  aids  the  birth. 

If  this  be  plain,  'tis  plainly  understood, 

What  uses  of  his  boon  the  Giver  would. 

The  Mind,  despatched  upon  her  busy  toil, 

Should  range  where  Providence  has  blessed  the  soilj 

Visiting  every  flower  with  labour  meet, 

And  gathering  all  her  treasures  sweet  by  sweet, 

She  should  imbue  the  tongue  with  what  she  sips, 

And  shed  the  balmy  blessing  on  the  lips, 

That  good  diffused  may  more  abundant  grow, 

And  speech  may  praise  the  power  that  bids  it  flow. 

Will  the  sweet  warbler  of  the  livelong  night, 

That  fills  the  listening  lover  with  delight, 

Forget  his  harmony,  with  rapture  heard, 

To  learn  the  twittering  of  a  meaner  bird  ? 

Or  make  the  parrot's  mimicry  his  choice, 

That  odious  libel  on  a  human  voice  ? 

No — Nature,  unsophisticate  by  man, 

Starts  not  aside  from  her  Creator's  plan ; 

The  melody  that  was  at  first  designed 

To  cheer  the  rude  forefathers  of  mankind, 

Is  note  for  note  delivered  in  our  ears, 

In  the  last  scene  of  her  six  thousand  years. 

Yet  Fashion,  leader  of  a  chattering  train, 

Whom  man,  for  his  own  hurt,  permits  to  reign, 

Who  shifts  and  changes  all  things  but  his  shape, 

And  would  degrade  her  votary  to  an  ape, 

The  fruitful  parent  of  abuse  and  wrong, 

Holds  a  usurped  dominion  o'er  his  tongue ; 

There  sits  and  prompts  him  with  his  own  disgrace, 

Prescribes  the  theme,  the  tone,  and  the  grimace, 

And  when  accomplished  in  her  waywarH  school, 

Calls  gentleman  whom  she  has  made  a  fool. 

TTis  an  unalterable  fixed 


.32  CONVERSATION. 

That  none  could  frame  or  ratify  but  she, 
That  heaven  and  hell,  and  righteousness  and  sin, 
Snares  in  his  path,  and  foes  that  lurk  within, 
God  and  his  attributes  (a  field  of  day 
Where  'tis  an  angel's  happiness  to  stray,) 
Fruits  of  his  love  and  wonders  of  his  might, 
Be  never  named  in  ears  esteemed  polite. 
That  he  who  dares,  when  she  forbids,  be  grave, 
Shall  stand  proscribed,  a  madman  or  a  knave, 
A  close  designer  not  to  be  believed, 
Or,  if  excused  that  charge,  at  least  deceived. 
Oh  folly  worthy  of  the  nurse's  lap, 
Give  it  the  breast,  or  stop  its  mouth  with  pap ! 
Is  it  incredible,  or  can  it  seem 
A  dream  to  any,  except  those  that  dream, 
That  man  should  love  his  maker,  and  that  fire, 
Warming  his  heart,  should  at  his  lips  transpire? 
Know  then,  and  modestly  let  fall  your  eyes, 
And  veil  your  daring  crest  that  braves  the  skies ; 
That  air  of  insolence  affronts  your  God, 
You  need  his  pardon,  and  provoke  his  rod : 
Now,  in  a  posture  that  becomes  you  more 
Than  that  heroic  strut  assumed  before, 
Know,  your  arrears  with  every  hour  accrue 
For  mercy  shown,  while  wrath  is  justly  due. 
The  time  is  short,  and  there  are  souls  on  earth, 
Though  future  pain  may  snrve  for  present  mirth, 
Acquainted  with  the  woes,  that  fear  or  shame, 
By  fashion  taught,  forbade  them  once  to  name, 
And,  having  felt  the  pangs  you  deem  a  jest, 
Have  proved  them  truths  too  big  to  be  expressed. 
Go  seek  on  revelation's  hallowed  ground, 
Sure  to  succeed,  the  remedy  they  found  : 
Touched  by  that  power  that  you  have  dared  to  mock, 
That  makes  seas  stable,  and  dissolves  the  rock, 
Your  heart  shall  yield  a  life-renewing  stream, 
That  fools,  as  you  have  done,  shall  call  a  dream. 
It  happened  on  a  solemn  eventide, 


CONVERSATION.  133 

Soon  after  He  that  was  our  surety  died, 
Two  bosom  friends,  each  pensively  inclined, 
The  scene  of  all  those  sorrows  leit  behind, 
Sought  their  own  village,  busied  as  they  went 
In  musings  worthy  of  the  great  event : 
They  spake  of  him  they  loved,  of  him  whose  life, 
Though  blameless,  had  incurred  perpetual  strife, 
Whose  deeds  have  left,  in  spite  of  hostile  arts, 
A  deep  memorial  graven  on  their  hearts. 
The  recollection,  like  a  vein  of  ore, 
The  farther  traced,  enriched  them  still  the  more  ; 
They  thought  him,  and  they  justly  thought  him,  one 
Sent  to  do  more  than  he  appeared  t'  have  done  ; 
T'  exalt  a  people,  and  to  place  them  high 
Above  all  else,  and  wondered  he  should  die. 
Ere  yet  they  brought  their  journey  to  an  end, 
A  stranger  joined  them,  courteous  as  a  friend, 
And  asked  them  with  a  kind,  engaging  air, 
What  their  affliction  was,  and  begged  to  share. 
Informed,  he  gathered  up  the  broken  thread, 
And,  truth  and  wisdom  gracing  all  he  said, 
Explained,  illustrated,  and  searched  so  well 
The  tender  theme  on  which  they  chose  to  dwell, 
That,  reaching  home,  the  night,  they  said,  is  near 
We  must  not  now  be  parted,  sojourn  here — 
The  new  acquaintance  soon  became  a  guest, 
And,  made  so  welcome  at  their  simple  feast, 
He  blessed  the  bread,  but  vanished  at  the  word, 
And  left  them  both  exclaiming,  'Twas  the  Lord ! 
Did  not  our  hearts  feel  all  he  deigned  to  say  ? 
Did  they  not  burn  within  us  on  the  way? 

Now  theirs  was  converse,  such  as  it  behoves 
Man  to  maintain,  and  such  as  God  approves : 
Their  views,  indeed,  were  indistinct  and  dim, 
But  yet  successful,  being  aimed  at  him. 
Christ  and  his  character  their  only  scope, 
Their  object,  and  their  subject,  and  their  hope, 
They  felt  what  it  became  them  much  to  feel, 
12 


134  CONVERSATION. 

And,  wanting  him  to  loose  the  sacred  seal, 
Found  him  as  prompt,  as  their  desire  was  true, 
To  spread  the  new-born  glories  in  their  view. 

Well — what  are  ages  and  the  lapse  of  time, 
Matched  against  truths,  as  lasting  as  sublime  ? 
Can  length  of  years  on  God  himself  exact  ? 
Or  make  that  fiction,  which  was  once  a  fact  ? 
No — marble  and  recording  brass  decay, 
And,  like  the  graver's  memory,  pass  away  ; 
The  works  of  man  inherit,  as  is  just, 
Their  author's  frailty,  and  return  to  dust : 
But  truth  divine  for  ever  stands  secure, 
Its  head  is  guarded,  and  its  base  is  sure. 
Fixed  in  the  rolling  flood  of  endless  years, 
The  pillar  of  th'  eternal  plan  appears, 
The  raving  storm  and  dashing  wave  defies, 
Built  by  that  architect  who  built  the  skies. 
Hearts  may  be  found,  that  harbour  at  this  hour 
That  love  of  Christ,  arid  all  its  quickening  power  j 
And  lips  unstained  by  folly  or  by  strife, 
Whose  wisdom,  drawn  from  the  deep  well  of  life. 
Tastes  of  its  healthful  origin,  and  flows 
A  Jordan  for  th'  ablution  of  our  woes. 
O  days  of  heaven  and  nights  of  equal  praise, 
Serene  and  peaceful  as  those  heavenly  days, 
When  souls  drawn  upwards  in  communion  sweet, 
Enjoy  the  stillness  of  some  close  retreat, 
Discourse,  as  if  released  and  safe  at  home, 
Of  dangers  past,  and  wonders  yet  to  come, 
And  spread  the  sacred  treasures  of  the  breast 
Upon  the  lap  of  covenanted  Rest. 

What,  always  dreaming  over  heavenly  things, 
Like  angel-heads  in  stone  with  pigeon-wings  ? 
Canting  and  whining  out  all  day  the  word, 
And  half  the  night  ?     Fanatic  and  absurd ! 
Mine  be  the  friend  less  frequent  in  his  prayers, 
Who  makes  no  bustle  with  his  soul's  affairs, 
Whose  wit  can  brighten  up  a  wintry  day, 


CONVERSATION.  136 

And  chase  the  splenetic  dull  hours  away ; 
Content  on  earth  in  earthly  things  to  shine, 
Who  waits  for  heaven  ere  he  becomes  divine 
Leave  saints  t'  enjoy  those  altitudes  they  teach. 
And  plucks  the  fruit  placed  more  within  his  reach. 

Well  spoken,  advocate  of  sin  and  shame, 
Known  by  thy  bleating,  ignorance  thy  name. 
Is  sparkling  wit  the  world's  exclusive  right  ? 
The  fixed  fee-simple  of  the  vain  and  light  7 
Can  hopes  of  heaven,  bright  prospects  of  an  hour, 
That  come  to  waft  us  out  of  Sorrow's  power, 
Obscure  or  quench  a  faculty,  that  finds 
Its  happiest  soil  in  the  serenest  minds? 
Religion  curbs  indeed  its  wanton  play, 
And  brings  the  trifler  under  rigorous  sway, 
But  gives  it  usefulness  unknown  before, 
And,  purifying,  makes  it  shine  the  more. 
A  Christian's  wit  is  inoffensive  light, 
A  beam  that  aids,  but  never  grieves  the  sight ; 
Vigorous  in  age  as  in  the  flush  of  youth, 
'Tis  always  active  on  the  side  of  truth  ; 
Temperance  and  peace  ensure  its  healthful  state, 
And  make  it  brightest  at  its  latest  date. 
Oh  I  have  seen  (nor  hope  perhaps  in  vain, 
Ere  life  go  down,  to  see  such  sights  again) 
A  veteran  warrior  in  the  Christian  field, 
Who  never  saw  the  sword  he  could  not  wield  ; 
Grave  without  dulness,  learned  without  pride, 
Exact,  yet  not  precise,  though  meek,  keen -eyed  ; 
A  man  that  would  have  foiled  at  their  own  play 
A  dozen  would -be's  of  the  modern  day  ; 
Who,  when  occasion  justified  its  use, 
Had  wit  as  bright  as  ready  to  produce, 
Could  fetch  from  records  of  an  earlier  age, 
Or  from  Philosophy  i  enlightened  page, 
His  rich  materials,  aid  regale  your  ear 
With  strains  it  was  a  privilege  to  hear  : 
Yet,  above  all,  his  luxury  supreme, 


136  CONVERSATION. 

And  his  chief  glory,  was  the  gospel  theme  : 
There  he  was  copious  as  old  Greece  or  Rome, 
His  happy  eloquence  seemed  there  at  home, 
Ambition  not  to  shine  or  to  excel, 
But  to  treat  justly  what  he  loved  so  weL. 

It  moves  me  more  perhaps  than  felly  ought, 
When  some  green  heads,  as  void  of  wit  as  thought, 
Suppose  themselves  monopolists  of  sense, 
And  wiser  men's  ability  pretence. 
Though  time  will  wear  us  and  we  must  grow  old, 
Such  men  are  not  forgot  as  soon  as  cold  ; 
Their  fragrant  memory  will  outlast  their  tomb, 
Embalmed  for  ever  in  its  own  perfume. 
And  to  say  truth,  though  in  its  early  prime, 
And  when  unstained  with  any  grosser  crime 
Youth  has  a  sprightliness  and  fire  to  boast, 
That  in  the  valley  of  decline  are  lost, 
And  Virtue  with  peculiar  charms  appears, 
Crowned  with  the  garland  of  life's  blooming  years ; 
Yet  Age,  by  long  experience  well  informed, 
Well  read,  well  tempered,  with  religion  warmed, 
That  fire  abated  which  impels  rash  youth, 
Proud  of  his  speed,  to  overshoot  the  truth, 
As  time  improves  the  grape's  authentic  juice, 
Mellows  and  makes  the  speech  more  fit  for  use, 
And  claims  a  reverence  in  its  shortening  day, 
That  'tis  an  honour  and  a  joy  to  pay. 
The  fruits  of  age,  less  fair,  are  yet  more  sound, 
Than  those  a  brighter  season  pours  around  ; 
And,  like  the  stores  autumnal  suns  mature, 
Through  wintry  rigours  unimpaired  endure. 

What  is  fanatic  frenzy,  scorned  so  much, 
And  dreaded  more  than  a  contagious  touch  ? 
I  grant  it  dangerous,  and  approve  your  fear, 
That  fire  is  catching  if  you  dra  v  too  near ; 
But  sage  observers  oft  mistake  I  \Q  flame, 
And  give  true  piety  that  odious  name. 
To  tremble  (as  the  creature  of  an  hour 


CONVERSATION.  137 

Ought  at  the  view  of  an  almighty  power) 

Before  his  presence,  at  whose  awful  throne 

All  tremble  in  all  worlds,  except  our  own, 

To  supplicate  his  mercy,  love  his  ways, 

And  prize  them  above  pleasure,  wealth,  or  praise, 

Though  common  sense,  allowed  a  casting  voice, 

And  free  from  bias,  must  approve  the  choice, 

Convicts  a  man  fanatic  in  th'  extreme, 

And  wild  as  madness  in  the  world's  esteem. 

But  that  disease,  when  soberly  defined. 

Is  the  false  fire  of  an  o'erheated  mind  ; 

It  views  the  truth  with  a  distorted  eye, 

And  either  warps  or  lays  it  useless  by  ; 

'Tis  narrow,  selfish,  arrogant,  and  draws 

Its  sordid  nourishment  from  man's  applause  ; 

And  while  at  heart  sin  unrelinquished  lies, 

Presumes  itself  chief  favourite  of  the  skies. 

'Tis  such  a  light  as  putrefaction  breeds 

In  fly-blown  flesh,  whereon  the  maggot  feeds, 

Shines  in  the  dark,  but,  ushered  into  day, 

The  stench  remains,  the  lustre  dies  away. 

True  bliss,  if  man  may  reach  it,  is  composed 
Of  hearts  in  union  mutually  disclosed 
And,  farewell  else  all  hope  of  pure  delight, 
Those  hearts  should  be  reclaimed,  renewed,  upright 
Bad  men,  profaning  friendship's  hallowed  name, 
Form,  in  its  stead,  a  covenant  of  shame, 
A  dark  confederacy  against  the  laws 
Of  virtue,  and  religion's  glorious  cause : 
They  build  each  other  up  with  dreadful  skill, 
As  bastion  set  point  blank  against  God's  will ; 
Enlarge  and  fortify  the  dread  redoubt, 
Deeply  resolved  to  shut  a  Saviour  out ; 
Call  legions  up  from  hell  to  back  the  deed  ; 
And,  cursed  with  conquest,  finally  succeed. 
But  souls  that  carry  on  a  blest  exchange 
Of  joys  they  meet  within  their  heavenly  range, 
And  with  a  fearless  confidence  make  known 


138  CONVERSATION. 

The  sorrows  sympathy  esteems  its  own, 
Daily  derive  increasing  light  and  force 
From  such  communion  in  their  pleasant  course, 
Feel  less  the  journey's  roughness  and  its  length, 
Meet  their  opposers  with  united  strength, 
And,  one  in  heart,  in  interest,  and  design, 
Gird  up  each  other  to  the  race  divine. 

But  conversation,  choose  what  theme  we  may, 
And  chiefly  when  religion  leads  the  way, 
Should  flow,  like  waters  after  summer  showers, 
Not  as  if  raised  by  mere  mechanic  powers. 
The  Christian,  in  whose  soul,  though  now  distressed, 
Lives  the  dear  thought  of  joys  he  once  possessed, 
When  all  his  glowing  language  issued  forth 
With  God's  deep  stamp  upon  its  current  worth, 
Will  speak  without  disguise,  and  must  impart, 
Sad  as  it  is,  his  undissemhling  heart, 
Abhors  constraint,  and  dares  not  feign  a  zeal, 
Or  seem  to  boast  a  fire  he  does  not  feel. 
The  song  of  Zion  is  a  tasteless  thing, 
Unless  when  rising  on  a  joyful  wing, 
The  soul  can  mix  with  the  celestial  bands, 
And  give  the  strain  the  compass  it  demands. 

Strange  tidings  these  to  tell  a  world  who  treat 
All  but  their  own  experience  as  deceit 
Will  they  believe,  though  credulous  enough 
To  swallow  much  upon  much  weaker  proof, 
That  there  are  blest  inhabitants  on  earth, 
Partakers  of  a  new  ethereal  birth, 
Their  hopes,  desires,  and  purposes  estranged 
From  things  terrestrial,  and  divinely  changed, 
Their  very  language  of  a  kind  that  speaks 
The  soul's  sure  interest  in  the  good  she  seeks, 
Who  deal  with  scripture,  its  imporance  felt, 
As  Tully  with  philosophy  once  dealt, 
And  in  the  silent  watches  of  the  night, 
And  through  the  scenes  of  toil-renewing  light, 
The  social  walk,  or  solitary  ride, 


CONVERSATION.  138 

Keep  still  the  dear  companion  at  their  side  ! 

No — shame  upon  a  self-disgracing  age, 

God's  work  may  serve  an  ape  upon  a  stage 

With  such  a  jest,  as  filled  with  hellish  glee 

Certain  invisibles  as  shrewd  as  he  ; 

But  veneration  or  respect  finds  none, 

Save  from  the  subjects  of  that  work  alone. 

The  world  grown  old,  her  deep  discernment  shows, 

Claps  spectacles  on  her  sagacious  nose, 

Peruses  closely  the  true  Christian's  face, 

And  finds  it  a  mere  mask  of  sly  grimace : 

Usurps  God's  office,  lays  his  bosom  bare, 

And  finds  hypocrisy  close  lurking  there  ; 

And,  serving  God  herself  through  mere  constraint, 

Concludes  his  unfeigned  love  of  him  a  feint. 

And  yet,  God  knows,  look  human  nature  through, 

(And  in  due  time  the  world  shall  know  it  too) 

That  since  the  flowers  of  Eden  felt  the  blast, 

That  after  man's  defection  laid  all  waste, 

Sincerity  towards  the  heart-searching  God 

Has  made  the  new-born  creature  her  abode, 

Nor  shall  be  found  in  unregenerate  souls, 

Till  the  last  fire  burn  all  between  the  poles. 

Sincerity  !  why  'tis  his  only  pride, 

Weak  and  imperfect  in  all  grace  beside, 

He  knows  that  God  demands  his  heart  entire, 

And  gives  him  all  his  just  demands  require. 

Without  it  his  pretensions  were  as  vain, 

As  having  it  he  deems  the  world's  disdain ; 

That  great  defect  would  cost  him  not  alone 

Man's  favourable  judgment,  but  his  own  ; 

His  birthright  shaken,  and  no  longer  clear, 

Than  while  his  conduct  proves  his  heart  sincere. 

Retort  the  charge,  and  let  the  world  be  told 

She  boasts  a  confidence  she  does  not  hold  ; 

That,  conscious  of  her  crimes,  she  feels  instead 

A  cold  misgiving,  and  a  killing  dread : 

That  while  in  health  the  ground  of  her  support 


140  CONVERSATION. 

Is  ruadly  co  foi^et  that  life  is  short ; 

That  SICK  she  tremuies,  knowing  she  must  die, 

Her  hope  presumption,  and  her  faith  a  lie  ; 

That  while  she  dotes,  and  dreams  that  she  believes, 

She  mocks  her  Maker,  and  herself  deceives, 

Her  utmost  reach,  historical  assent, 

The  doctrines  warped  to  what  they  never  meant ; 

That  truth  itself  is  in  her  head  as  dull 

And  useless  as  a  candle  in  a  scull, 

And  all  her  love  of  God  a  groundless  claim, 

A  trick  upon  the  canvass,  painted  flame. 

Tell  her  again,  the  sneer  upon  her  face, 

And  all  her  censures  of  the  work  of  grace, 

Are  insincere,  meant  only  to  conceal 

A  dread  she  would  not,  yet  is  forced  to  feel : 

That  in  her  heart  the  Christian  she  reveres, 

And  while  she  seems  to  scorn  him,  only  fears. 

A  poet  does  not  work  by  square  or  line, 
As  smiths  and  joiners  perfect  a  design  ; 
At  least  we  moderns,  our  attention  less, 
Beyond  the  example  of  our  sires  digress, 
And  claim  a  right  to  scamper  and  run  wide, 
Wherever  chance,  caprice,  or  fancy  guide. 
The  world  and  I  fortuitously  met ; 
I  owed  a  trifle,  and:  have  paid  the  debt ; 
She  did  me  wrong,  1  recompensed  the  deed, 
And,  having  struck  the  balance,  now  proceed. 
Perhaps,  however,  as  some  years  have  passed, 
Since  she  and  I  conversed  together  last, 
And  I  have  lived  recluse  in  rural  shades, 
Which  seldom  a  distinct  report  pervades, 
Great  changes  and  new  manners  have  occurred, 
And  blest  reforms  that  I  have  never  heard, 
And  she  may  now  be  as  discreet  and  wise, 
As  once  absurd  in  all  discerning  eyes. 
Sobriety  perhaps  may  now  be  found, 
Where  once  Intoxication  pressed  the  ground ; 
The  subtle  and  injurious  may  be  just, 


CONVERSATION.  141 

And  he  grown  chaste,  that  was  the  slave  of  lust ; 

Arts  once  esteemed  may  be  with  shame  dismissed 

Charity  may  relax  the  miser's  fist ; 

The  gamester  may  have  cast  his  cards  away, 

Forgot  to  curse,  and  only  kneel  to  pray. 

It  has  indeed  been  told  me  (with  what  weight, 

How  credibly,  'tis  hard  for  me  to  state) 

That  fables  old,  that  seemed  for  ever  mute, 

Revived,  are  hastening  into  fresh  repute, 

And  gods  and  goddesses  discarded  long, 

Like  useless  lumber,  or  a  stroller's  song, 

Are  bringing  into  vogue  their  heathen  train, 

And  Jupiter  bids  fair" to  rule  again  ; 

That  certain  feasts  are  instituted  now, 

Where  Venus  hears  the  lover's  tender  vow  ; 

That  all  Olympus  through  the  country  roves, 

To  consecrate  our  few  remaining  groves, 

And  Echo  learns  politely  to  repeat 

The  praise  of  names  for  ages  obsolete : 

That  having  proved  the  weakness,  it  should  seem 

Of  revelation's  ineffectual  beam, 

To  bring  the  passions  under  sober  sway, 

And  give  the  moral  springs  their  proper  play, 

They  mean  to  try  what  may  at  last  be  done, 

By  stout  substantial  gods  of  wood  and  stone, 

And  whether  Roman  rites  may  not  produce 

The  virtues  of  old  Rome  for  English  use. 

May  such  success  attend  the  pious  plan, 

May  Mercury  once  more  embellish  man, 

Grace  him  again  with  long  forgotten  arts, 

Reclaim  his  taste,  and  brighten  up  his  parts, 

Make  him  athletic  as  in  days  of  old, 

Learned  at  the  bar,  in  the  palaestra  bold, 

Divest  the  rougher  sex  of  female  airs, 

And  teach  the  softer  not  to  copy  theirs : 

The  change  shall  please,  nor  shall  it  matter  aug' 

Who  works  the  wonder,  if  it  be  but  wrought. 

"Tis  time,  however,  if  the  case  stand  thus, 


142  CONVERSATION. 

For  us  plain  folks,  and  all  who  side  with  us, 
To  build  our  altar,  confident  and  bold, 
And  say  as  stern  Elijah  said  of  old, 
The  strife  now  stands  upon  a  fair  award, 
If  Israel's  Lord  be  God,  then  serve  the  Lord : 
If  he  be  silent,  faith  is  all  a  whim, 
Then  Baal  is  the  God,  and  worship  him. 
Digression  is  so  much  in  modern  use, 
Thought  is  so  rare,  and  fancy  so  profuse, 
Some  never  seem  so  wide  of  their  intent, 
As  when  returning  to  the  theme  they  meant ; 
As  mendicants,  whose  business  is  to  roam, 
Make  every  parish  but  their  own  their  home. 
Though  such  continual  zigzags  in  a  book, 
Such  drunken  reelings  have  an  awkward  look, 
And  1  had  rather  creep  to  what  is  true, 
Than  rove  and  stagger  with  no  mark  in  view ; 
Yet  to  consult  a  little,  seemed  no  crime, 
The  freakish  humour  of  the  present  time  ; 
But  now  to  gather  up  what  seems  dispersed, 
And  touch  the  subject  I  designed  at  first, 
May  prove,  though  much  beside  the  rules  of  art, 
Best  for  the  public,  and  my  wisest  part. 
And  first,  let  no  man  charge  me  that  I  mean 
To  clothe  in  sable  every  social  scene, 
And  give  good  company  a  face  severe, 
As  if  they  met  around  a  father's  bier ; 
For  tell  some  men,  that  pleasure  all  their  bent, 
And  laughter  all  their  work,  is  life  mispent, 
Their  wisdom  bursts  into  the  sage  reply, 
Then  mirth  is  sin,  and  we  should  always  cry. 
To  find  the  medium  asks  some  share  of  wit, 
And  therefore  'tis  a  mark  fools  never  hit. 
But  though  life's  valley  be  a  vale  of  tears, 
A  brighter  scene  beyond  that  vale  appears, 
Whose  glory,  with  a  light  that  never  fades, 
Shoots  between  scattered  rocks  and  opening  shades, 
And,  while  it  shows  the  land  the  soul  desires, 


RETIREMENT.  143 

The  language  of  the  land  she  seeks  inspires. 

Thus  touched,  the  tongue  receives  a  sacred  cure 

Of  all  that  was  absurd,  profane,  impure  ; 

Held  within  modest  bounds,  the  tide  of  speech 

Pursues  the  course  that  Truth  and  Nature  teach ; 

No  longer  labours  merely  to  produce 

The  pomp  of  sound,  or  tinkle  without  use : 

Where'er  it  winds,  the  salutary  stream, 

Sprightly  and  fresh,  enriches  every  theme, 

While  all  the  happy  man  possessed  before, 

The  gift  of  nature,  or  the  classic  store, 

Is  made  subservient  to  the  grand  design, 

For  which  heaven  formed  the  faculty  divine. 

So  should  an  idiot,  while  at  large  he  strays, 

Find  the  sweet  lyre,  on  which  an  artist  plays, 

With  rash  and  awkward  force  the  chords  he  shakes, 

And  grins  with  wonder  at  the  jar  he  makes  ; 

But  let  the  wise  and  well  instructed  hand 

Once  take  the  shell  beneath  his  just  command; 

In  gentle  sounds  it  seems  as  it  complained 

Of  the  rude  injuries  it  late  sustained,     . 

Till  tuned  at  length  to  some  immortal  song, 

It  sounds  Jehovah's  name,  and  pours  his  praise  along. 


RETIREMENT. 

studiis  florens  ignobilis  oti. Virg.  Geor.  Lib.  4. 

HACKNEYED  in  business,  wearied  at  the  oar 
Which  thousands,  once  fast  chained  to,  quit  no  more, 
But  which,  when  life  at  ebb  runs  weak  and  low, 
All  wish,  or  seem  to  wish,  they  could  forego ; 
The  statesman,  lawyer,  merchant,  man  of  trade, 
Pants  for  the  refuge  of  some  rural  shade, 
Where,  all  his  long  anxieties  forgot 
Amid  the  charms  of  a  sequestered  spot, 
Or  recollected  only  to  gild  o'er, 
And  add  a  smile  to  what  was  sweet  before, 


144  RETIREMENT. 

He  may  possess  the  joys  he  thinks  he  sees, 

Lay  his  old  age  upon  the  lap  of  Ease, 

Improve  the  remnant  of  his  wasted  span, 

And,  having  lived  a  trifler,  die  a  man. 

Thus  Conscience  pleads  her  cause  within  the  breast, 

Though  long  rebelled  against,  not  yet  suppressed, 

And  calls  a  creature  formed  for  God  alone, 

For  Heaven's  high  purposes,  and  not  his  own : 

Calls  him  away  from  selfish  ends  and  aims, 

From  what  debilitates  and  what  inflames, 

.From  cities  humming  with  a  restless  crowd, 

Sordid  as  active,  ignorant  as  loud, 

Whose  highest  praise  is  that  they  live  in  vain, 

The  dupes  of  pleasure,  or  the  slaves  of  gain, 

Where  works  of  man  are  clustered  close  around, 

And  works  of  God  are  hardly  to  be  found. 

To  regions  where,  in  spite  of  sin  and  wo, 

Traces  of  Eden  are  still  seen  below, 

Where  mountain,  river,  forest,  field,  and  grove, 

Remind  him  of  his  Maker's  power  and  love. 

*Tis  well  if,  looked  for  at  so  late  a  day, 

In  the  last  scene  of  such  a  senseless  play, 

True  wisdom  will  attend  his  feeble  call, 

And  grace  his  action  ere  the  curtain  fall. 

Souls,  that  have  long  despised  their  heavenly  birth, 

Their  wishes  all  impregnated  with  earth, 

For  threescore  years  employed  with  ceaseless  care 

In  catching  smoke  and  feeding  upon  air, 

Conversant  only  with  the  ways  of  men, 

Rarely  redeem  the  short  remaining  ten. 

[nveterate  habits  choke  th'  unfruitful  heart, 

Their  fibres  penetrate  its  tenderest  part, 

And,  draining  its  nutritious  powers  to  feed 

Their  noxious  growth,  starve  every  better  seed. 

Happy,  if  full  of  days — but  happier  far, 
If,  ere  we  yet  disccern  life's  evening  star. 
Sick  of  the  service  of  a  world  that  feeds 
Its  patient  drudges  with  dry  chaff  and  weeds, 


RETIREMENT.  146 

We  can  escape  from  custom's  idiot  sway, 
To  serve  the  sovereign  we  were  born  to  obey. 
Then  sweet  to  muse  upon  his  skill  displayed 
(Infinite  skill)  in  all  that  he  has  made  ! 
To  trace  in  Nature's  most  minute  design 
The  signature  and  stamp  of  power  divine, 
Contrivance  intricate,  expressed  with  ease, 
Where  unassisted  sight  no  beauty  sees, 
The  shapely  limb  and  lubricated  joint, 
Within  the  small  dimensions  of  a  point, 
Muscle  and  nerve  miraculously  spun, 
His  mighty  work,  who  speaks,  and  it  is  done, 
The  invisible  in  things  scarce  seen  revealed, 
To  whom  an  atom  is  an  ample  n>l«J  ; 
To  wonder  at  a  thousand  insect  forms, 
These  hatched,  and  those  resuscitated  worms, 
New  life  ordained  and  brighter  scenes  to  share, 
Once  prone  on  earth,  now  buoyant  upon  air, 
Whose  shape  would  make  them,  had  they  bulk  and  size, 
More  hideous  foes  than  fancy  can  devise ; 
With  helmet-heads  and  dragon-scales  adorned, 
The  mighty  myriads,  now  securely  scorned, 
Would  mock  the  majesty  of  man's  high  birth, 
Despise  his  bulwarks,  and  unpeople  earth. 
Then  with  a  glance  of  fancy  to  survey, 
Far  as  the  faculty  can  stretch  away, 
Ten  thousand  rivers  poured  at  his  command 
From  urns,  that  never  fail,  through  every  land ; 
This  like  a  deluge  with  impetuous  force, 
Those  winding  modestly  a  silent  course  ; 
The  cloud-surmounting  Alps,  the  fruitful  vales  ; 
Seas,  on  which  every  nation  spreads  her  sails  ; 
The  sun,  a  world  whence  other  worlds  drink  light, 
The  crescent  moon,  the  diadem  of  night ; 
Stars  countless,  each  in  his  appointed  place, 
Fast  anchored  in  the  deep  abyss  of  space — 
At  such  a  sight  to  catch  the  poet's  flame, 
And  with  a  rapture  like  his  own  exclaim, 

13 


146  RETIREMENT. 

These  are  thy  glorious  works,  thou  source  of  goo< 
How  dimly  seen,  How  faintly  understood  ! 
Thine,  and  upheld  by  thy  paternal,  care, 
This  universal  frame,  thus  wondrous  fair  ; 
Thy  power  divine,  and  bounty  beyond  thought, 
Adored  and  praised  in  all  that  thou  hast  wrought. 
Absorbed  in  that  immensity  I  see, 
I  shrink  abased,  and  yet  aspire  to  thee  ; 
Instruct  me,  guide  me  to  that  heavenly  day 
Thy  words  more  clearly  than  thy  works  display, 
That,  while  thy  truths  my  grosser  thoughts  refine. 
I  may  resemble  thee,  and  call  thee  mine. 

O  blest  proficiency  !  surpassing  all 
That  men  erroneously  their  glory  call, 
The  recompense  that  arts  or  arms  can  yie^d, 
The  bar,  the  senate,  or  the  tented  field. 
Compared  with  this  sublimest  life  below, 
Ye  kings  and  rulers,  what  have  courts  to  uhow  J 
Thus  studied,  used  and  consecrated  thus, 
On  earth  what  is,  seems  formed  indeed  for  us  : 
Not  as  the  plaything  of  a  froward  child, 
Fretful  unless  diverted  and  beguiled, 
Much  less  to  feed  and  fan  the  fatal  fires 
Of  pride,  ambition,  or  impure  desires, 
But  as  a  scale,  by  which  the  soul  ascends 
From  mighty  means  to  more  important  ends, 
Securely,  though  by  steps  but  rarely  trod, 
Mounts  from  inferior  beings  up  to  God, 
And  sees,  by  no  fallacious  light  or  dim, 
Earth  made  for  man,  and  man  himself  for  him. 

Not  that  I  mean  t'  approve,  or  would  enforce, 
A  superstitious  and  monastic  course : 
Truth  is  not  local,  God  alike  pervades 
And  fills  the  world  of  traffic  and  the  shades, 
And  may  be  feared  amidst  the  busiest  scenes, 
Or  scorned  where  business  never  intervenes. 
But  u;r  — *  -^asy  with  a  mind  like  ours, 
Conscious  of  weakness  in  its  noblest 


RETIREMENT.  147 

Arid  hi  a  world  where,  other  ills  apart, 

The  roving  eye  misleads  the  careless  heart, 

To  limit  Thought,  by  nature  prone  to  stray 

Wherever  freakish  Fancy  points  the  way ; 

To  bid  the  pleadings  of  Self-love  be  still, 

Resign  our  own  and  seek  our  Maker's  will ; 

To  spread  the  page  of  Scripture,  and  compare 

Our  conduct  with  the  laws  engraven  there  ; 

To  measure  all  that  passes  in  the  breast, 

Faithfully,  fairly,  by  that  sacred  test ; 

To  dive  into  the  secret  deeps  within, 

To  spare  no  passion  and  no  favourite  sin, 

And  search  the  themes,  important  above  all, 

Ourselves,  and  our  recovery  from  our  fall. 

But  leisure,  silence,  and  a  mind  released 

From  anxious  thoughts  how  wealth  may  be  increased, 

How  to  secure,  in  some  propitious  hour, 

The  point  of  interest  or  the  post  of  power, 

A  soul  serene,  and  equally  retired 

From  objects  too  much  dreaded  or  desired, 

Safe  from  the  clamours  of  perverse  dispute, 

At  least  are  friendly  to  the  great  pursuit. 

Opening  the  map  of  Godvs  extensive  plan, 
We  find  a  little  isle,  this  life  of  man  ; 
Eternity's  unknown  expanse  appears 
Circling  around  and  limiting  his  years. 
The  busy  race  examine  and  explore 
Each  creek  and  cavern  of  the  dangerous  sliore, 
With  care  collect  what  in  their  eyes  excels, 
Some  shining  pebbles,  and  some  weeds  and  shells 
Thus  laden,  dream  that  they  are  rich  and  great, 
And  happiest  he  that  groans  beneath  his  weight. 
The  waves  overtake  them  in  their  serious  play, 
And  every  hour  sweeps  multitudes  away  ; 
They  shriek  and  sink,  survivors  start  and  weeft 
Pursue  their  sport,  and  follow  to  the  deep. 
A  few  forsake  the  throng  :  with  lifted  eyes 
Ask  wealth  of  Heaven,  and  gain  a  real  prize, 


148  RETIREMENT. 

Truth,  wisdom,  grace,  and  peace  like  that  above, 
Sealed  with  his  signet  whom  they  serve  and  love  , 
Scorned  by  the  rest,  with  patient  hope  they  wait 
A  kind  release  from  their  imperfect  state, 
And  unregretted  are  soon  snatched  away 
From  scenes  of  sorrow  into  glorious  day. 

Now  these  alone  prefer  a  life  recluse, 
Who  seek  retirement  for  its  proper  use  ; 
The  love  of  change,  that  lives  in  every  breast, 
Genius,  and  temper,  and  desire  of  rest, 
Discordant  motives  in  one  centre  meet, 
And  each  inclines  its  votary  to  retreat. 
Some  minds  by  nature  are  averse  to  noise, 
And  hate  the  tumult  half  the  world  enjoys, 
The  lure  of  avarice,  or  the  pompous  prize, 
That  courts  display  before  ambitious  eyes  ; 
The  fruits  that  hang  on  pleasure's  flowery  stem, 
Whate'er  enchants  them,  are  no  snares  to  them. 
To  them  the  deep  recess  of  dusky  groves  - 
Or  forest,  where  the  deer  securely  roves, 
The  fall  of  waters,  and  the  song  of  birds, 
And  hills  that  echo  to  the  distant  herds, 
Are  luxuries  excelling  all  the  glare 
The  world  can  boast,  and  her  chief  favourites  share. 
With  eager  step,  and  carelessly  arrayed, 
For  such  a  cause  the  poet  seeks  the  shade, 
From  all  he  sees  he  catches  new  delight, 
Pleased  Fancy  claps  her  pinions  at  the  sight, 
The  rising  or  the  setting  orb  of  day, 
The  clouds  that  flit,  or  slowly  float  away, 
Nature  in  all  the  various  shapes  she  wears, 
Frowning  in  storms,  or  breathing  gentle  airs  ; 
The  snowy  robe  her  wintry  state  assumes, 
Her  summer  heats,  her  fruits,  and  her  perfumes  : 
All,  all  alike  transport  the  glowing  bard, 
Success  in  rhyme  his  glory  and  reward. 
O  Nature  !  whose  Elysian  scenes  disclose 
His  bright  perfections,  at  whose  word  they  rose, 


RETIREMENT  U9 

Next  to  that  power,  who  form'd  thee  and  sustains, 
Be  thou  the  great  inspirer  of  my  strains. 
Still,  as  I  touch  the  lyre,  do  thou  expand 
Thy  genuine  charms,  and  guide  an  artless  hand. 
That  I  may  catch  a  fire  but  rarely  known, 
Give  useful  light,  though  I  should  miss  renown, 
And,  poring  on  thy  page,  whose  every  line 
Bears  proof  of  an  intelligence  divine, 
May  feel  a  heart  enriched  by  what  it  pays, 
That  builds  its  glory  on  its  Maker's  praise. 
Wo  to  the  man,  whose  wit  disclaims  its  use, 
Glittering  in  vain,  or  only  to  seduce, 
Who  studies  nature  with  a  wanton  eye, 
Admires  the  work,  but  slips  the  lesson  by ; 
His  hours  of  leisure  and  recess  employs 
In  drawing  pictures  of  forbidden  joys, 
Retires  to  blazon  his  own  worthless  name, 
Or  shoot  the  careless  with  a  surer  aim. 

The  lover  too  shuns  business  and  alarms, 
Tender  idolater  of  absent  charms. 
Saints  offer  nothing  in  their  warmest  prayers, 
That  he  devotes  not  with  a  zeal  like  theirs ; 
'Tis  consecration  of  his  heart,  soul,  time, 
And  every  thought  that  wanders  is  a  crime. 
In  sighs  he  worships  his  supremely  fair. 
And  weeps  a  sad  libation  in  despair  ; 
Adores  a  creature,  and,  devout  in  vain, 
Wins  in  return  an  answer  of  disdain. 
As  woodbine  weds  the  plant  within  her  reach, 
Rough  elm,  or  smooth-grained  ash,  or  glossy  beech. 
In  spiral  rings  ascends  the  trunk,  and  lays 
Her  golden  tassels  on  the  leafy  sprays, 
But  does  a  mischief  while  she  lends  a  grace, 
Straitening  its  growth  by  such  a  strict  embrace; 
So  love,  that  clings  around  the  noblest  mindsj 
Forbids  th'  advancement  of  the  soul  he  binds  • 
The  suitor's  air  indeed  he  soon  improves, 
And  forms  it  to  the  taste  of  her  he  loves, 
13* 


150  RETIREMENT. 

Teaches  his  eyes  a  language,  and  no  less 
Refines  his  speech,  and  fashions  his  address ; 
But  farewell  promises  of  happier  fruits, 
Manly  designs,  and  learning's  grave  pursuits ; 
Girt  with  a  chain  he  cannot  wish  to  break, 
His  only  bliss  is  sorrow  for  her  sake  ; 
Who  will  may  pant  for  glory  and  excel, 
Her  smile  his  aim,  all  higher  aims  farewell ! 
Thyrsis,  Alexis,  or  whatever  name 
May  least  offend  against  so  pure  a  flame, 
Though  sage  advice  of  friends  the  most  sincere 
Sounds  harshly  in  so  delicate  an  ear, 
And  lovers,  of  all  creatures  tame  or  wild, 
Can  least  brook  management,  however  mild  ; 
Yet  let  a  poet  (poetry  disarms 
The  fiercest  animals  with  magic  charms) 
Risk  an  intrusion  on  thy  pensive  mood, 
And  woo  and  win  thee  to  thy  proper  good. 
Pastoral  images  and  still  retreats, 
Umbrageous  walks  and  solitary  seats, 
Sweet  birds  in  concert  with  harmonious  streams 
Soft  airs,  nocturnal  vigils,  and  day  dreams, 
Are  all  enchantments  in  a  case  like  thine, 
Conspire  against  thy  peace  with  one  design, 
Sooth  thee  to  make  thee  but  a  surer  prey, 
And  feed  the  fire  that  wastes  thy  powers  away. 
Up — God  has  formed  thee  with  a  wiser  view, 
Not  to  be  led  in  chains,  but  to  subdue ; 
Calls  thee  to  cope  with  enemies,  and  first 
Points  out  a  conflict  with  thyself,  the  worst. 
Woman  indeed,  a  gift  he  would  bestow, 
When  he  designed  a  paradise  below, 
The  richest  earthly  boon  his  hands  afford, 
Deserves  to  be  beloved,  but  not  adored. 
Post  away  swiftly  to  more  active  scenes, 
Collect  the  scattered  truths  that  study  gleans, 
Mix  with  the  world,  but  with  its  wiser  part, 
No  longer  give  an  image  all  thye  heart ; 


RETIREMENT.  151 

Its  empire  is  not  hers,  nor  is  it  thine, 
'Tis  God's  just  claim,  prerogative  divine. 

Virtuous  and  faithful  HEBERDEN,  whose  skill 
Attempts  no  task  it  cannot  well  fulfil, 
Gives  melancholy  up  to  Nature's  care, 
And  sends  the  patient  into  purer  air. 
Look  where  he  comes — in  this  embowered  alcove 
Stand  close  concealed,  and  see  a  statue  move : 
Lips  busy,  and  eyes  fixed,  foot  falling  slow, 
Arms  hanging  idly  down,  hands  clasped  below, 
Interpret  to  the  marking  eye  distress, 
Such  as  its  symptoms  can  alone  express. 
That  tongue  is  silent  now  ;  that  silent  tongue 
Could  argue  once,  could  jest  or  join  the  song, 
Could  give  advice,  could  censure  or  commend, 
Or  charm  the  sorrov/s  of  a  drooping  friend. 
Renounced  alike  its  office  and  its  sport, 
Its  brisker  and  its  graver  strains  fall  short ; 
Both  fail  beneath  a  fever's  secret  sway, 
And  like  a  summer  brook  are  past  away. 
This  is  a  sight  for  Pity  to  peruse, 
Till  she  resemble  faintly  what  she  views, 
Till  sympathy  contract  a  kindred  pain, 
Pierced  with  the  woes  that  she  laments  in  vain. 
This,  of  all  maladies  that  man  infest, 
Claims  most  compassion,  and  receives  the  least 
Job  felt  it,  when  he  groaned  beneath  the  rod 
And  the  barbed  arrows  of  a  frowning  God  ; 
And  such  emollients  as  his  friends  could  spare. 
Friends  such  as  his  for  modern  Jobs  prepare. 
Blest,  rather  curst,  with  hearts  that  never  feel, 
Kept  snug  in  caskets  of  close  hammered  steel. 
With  mouths  made  only  to  grin  wide  and  eat, 
And  minds,  that  deem  derided  pain  a  treat, 
With  limbs  of  British  oak,  and  nerves  of  wire, 
And  wit  that  puppet-prompters  might  inspire 
Their  sovereign  nostrum  is  a  clumsy  joke 
On  pangs  enforced  with  God's  severest  stroke. 


152  RETIREMENT. 

But  with  a  soul,  that  never  felt  the  sting 

Of  sorrow,  sorrow  is  a  sacred  thing : 

Not  to  molest,  or  irritate,  or  raise 

A  laugh  at  his  expense,  is  slender  praise ; 

He  that  has  not  usurped  the  name  of  man, 

Does  all,  and  deems  too  little  all,  he  can, 

T'  assuage  the  throbbings  of  the  festered  part, 

And  stanch  the  bleedings  of  a  broken  heart. 

Tis  not,  as  heads  that  never  ache  suppose, 

Forgery  of  fancy,  and  a  dream  of  woes  ; 

Man  is  a  harp,  whose  chords  elude  the  sight, 

Each  yielding  harmony  disposed  aright ; 

The  screws  reversed  (a  task  which,  if  he  please, 

God  in  a  moment  executes  with  ease,) 

Ten  thousand  thousand  strings  at  once  go  loose, 

Lost,  till  he  tune  them,  all  their  power  and  use. 

Theixneither  heathy  wilds,  nor  scenes  as  fair 

As  ever  recompensed  the  peasant's  care 

Nor  soft  declivities  with  tufted  hills, 

Nor  view  of  waters  turning  busy  mills, 

Parks  in  which  Art  preceptress  Nature  weds, 

Nor  gardens  interspersed  with  flowery  beds, 

Nor  gales,  that  catch  the  scent  of  blooming  groves, 

And  waft  it  to  the  mourner  as  he  roves, 

Can  call  up  life  into  his  faded  eye, 

That  passes  all  he  sees  unheeded  by  ; 

No  wounds  like  those  a  wounded  spirk  feels, 

No  cure  for  such,  till  God,  who  makes  them,  heals. 

And  thou,  sad  suiferer  under  nameless  ill, 

That  yields  not  to  the  touch  of  human  skill, 

Improve  the  kind  occasion,  understand 

A  Father's  frown,  and  kiss  his  chastening  hand. 

To  thee  the  day-spring,  and  the  blaze  of  noon, 

The  purple  evening  and  resplendent  moon, 

The  stars  that,  sprinkled  o'er  the  vaalt  of  night, 

Seem  drops  descending  in  a  shower  of  light, 

Shine  not,  or  imdesirecl  and  hated  shine, 

Seen  through  the  medium  of  a  cloud  like  thine  : 


RETIREMENT.  153 

Yet  seek  him,  in  his  favour  life  is  found, 

All  bliss  beside  a  shadow  and  a  sound  : 

Then  heaven,  eclipsed  so  long,  and  this  dull  earth* 

Shall  seem  to  start  into  a  second  birth  ; 

Nature,  assuming  a  more  lovely  face, 

Borrowing  a  beauty  from  the  works  of  grace, 

Shall  be  despised  and  overlooked  no  more, 

Shall  fill  thee  with  delights  unfelt  before, 

Impart  to  things  inanimate  a  voice, 

And  bid  her  mountains  and  her  hills  rejoice ; 

The  sound  shall  run  along  the  winding  vales, 

And  thou  enjoy  an  Eden  ere  it  fails. 

Ye  groves  (the  statesman  at  his  desk  exclaims, 
Sick  of  a  thousand  disappointed  aims,) 
My  patrimonial  treasure  and  my  pride, 
Beneath  your  shades  your  gray  possessor  hide, 
Receive  me  languishing  for  that  repose 
The  servant  of  the  public  never  knows. 
Ye  saw  me  once  (ah,  those  regretted  days, 
When  boyish  innocence  was  all  my  praise  !) 
Hour  after  hour  delightfully  allot 
To  studies  then  familiar,  since  forgot, 
And  cultivate  a  taste  for  ancient  song, 
Catching  its  ardour  as  I  mused  along ; 
Nor  seldom,  as  propitious  Heaven  might  send, 
What  once  I  valued  and  could  boast,  a  friend, 
Were  witnesses  how  cordially  I  pressed 
His  undissembling  virtue  to  my  breast ; 
Receive  me  now,  not  uncorrupt  as  then, 
Nor  guiltless  of  corrupting  other  men, 
But  versed  in  arts,  that,  while  they  seem  to  stay 
A  falling  empire,  hasten  its  decay. 
To  the  fair  haven  of  my  native  home, 
The  wreck  of  what  I  was,  fatigued  I  come ; 
For  once  I  can  approve  the  patriot's  voice, 
And  make  the  course  he  recommends  my  choice ; 
We  meet  at  last  in  one  sincere  desire, 
His  wish  and  mine  both  prompt  me  to  retire. 


154  RETIREMENT. 

'Tis  done — he  steps  into  the  welcome  chaise, 

Lolls  at  his  ease  behind  four  handsome  bays, 

That  whirl  away  from  business  and  debate 

The  disencumbered  atlas  of  the  state. 

Ask  not  the  boy,  who,  when  the  breeze  of  morn 

First  shakes  the  glittering  drops  from  every  thorn, 

Unfolds  his  flock,  then  under  bank  or  bush 

Sits  linking  cherry-stones,  or  platting  rush, 

How  fair  is  freedom  ? — he  was  always  free  ; 

To  carve  his  rustic  name  upon  a  tree, 

To  snare  the  mole,  or  with  ill-fashioned  hook, 

To  draw  th'  incautious  minnow  from  the  brook, 

Are  life's  prime  pleasures  ki  his  simple  view, 

His  flock  the  chief  concern  he  ever  knew  ; 

She  shines  but  little  in  his  heedless  eyes, 

The  good  we  never  miss  we  rarely  prize : 

But  ask  the  noble  drudge  in  state  affairs, 

Escaped  from  office  and  its  constant  cares, 

What  charms  he  sees  in  Freedom's  smile  expressed, 

In  Freedom  lost  so  long,  now  re-possessed  ; 

The  tongue  whose  strains  were  cogent  as  commands. 

Revered  at  home,  and  felt  in  foreign  lands, 

Shall  own  itself  a  stammerer  in  that  cause, 

Or  plead  its  silence  as  its  best  applause. 

He  knows  indeed  that  whether  dressed  or  rude. 

Wild  without  art  or  artfully  subdued, 

Nature  in  every  form  inspires  delight, 

But  never  marked  her  with  so  just  a  sight, 

Her  hedge-row  shrubs,  a  variegated  store, 

With  woodbine  and  wild  roses  mantled  o'er, 

Green  balks  and  furrowed  lands,  the  stream  that 

spreads 

Its  cooling  vapour  o'er  the  dewy  meads, 
Downs,  that  almost  escape  th'  inquiring  eye, 
That  melt  and  fade  into  the  distant  sky, 
Beauties  he  lately  slighted  as  he  passed, 
Seem  all  created  since  he  travelled  last. 
Master  of  all  the  enjovments  he  designed, 


RETIREMENT.  155 

No  rough  annoyance  rankling  in  his  mind, 

What  early  philosophic  hours  he  keeps, 

How  regular  his  meals,  how  sound  he  sleeps ! 

Not  sounder  he,  that  on  the  mainmast  head, 

While  morning  kindles  with  a  windy  red, 

Begins  a  long  look-out  for  distant  land, 

Nor  quits,  till  evening  watch,  his  giddy  stand, 

Then  swift  descending  with  a  seaman's  haste, 

Slips  to  his  hammock,  and  forgets  the  blast. 

He  chooses  company,  but  not  the  squire's, 

Whose  wit  is  rudeness,  whose  good  breeding  tires  ; 

Nor  yet  the  parson's,  who  would  gladly  come, 

Obsequious  when  abroad,  though  proud  at  home  ; 

Nor  can  he  much  effect  the  neighbouring  peer. 

Whose  toe  of  emulation  treads  too  near ; 

But  wisely  seeks  a  more  convenient  friend, 

With  whom,  dismissing  forms,  he  may  unbend ! 

A  man  whom  marks  of  condescending  grace 

Teach  while  they  flatter  him,  his  proper  place ; 

Who  comes  when  called,  and  at  a  word  withdraws, 

Speaks  with  reserve,  and  listens  with  applause ; 

Some  plain  mechanic,  who,  without  pretence 

To  birth  or  wit,  nor  gives  nor  takes  offence ; 

On  whom  he  rests  well-pleased  his  weary  powers, 

And  talks  and  laughs  away  his  vacant  hours. 

The  tide  of  life,  swift  always  in  its  course, 

May  run  in  cities  with  a  brisker  force. 

But  nowhere  with  a  current  so  serene, 

Or  half  so  clear,  as  in  the  rural  scene. 

Yet  how  fallacious  is  all  earthly  bliss, 

What  obvious  truths  the  wisest  heads  may  miss ; 

Some  pleasures  live  a  month,  and  some  a  year, 

But  short  the  date  of  all  we  gather  here  ; 

No  happiness  is  felt,  except  the  true, 

That  does  not  charm  the  more  for  being  new. 

This  observation,  as  it  chanced,  not  made, 

Or,  if  the  thought  occurred,  not  duly  weighed, 

He  sighs — for  after  all  by  slow  degrees, 


156  RETIREMENT. 

The  spot  he  loved  has  lost  the  power  to  please ; 
To  cross  his  ambling  pony  day  by  day, 
Seems  at  the  best  but  dreaming  life  away ; 
The  prospect,  such  as  might  enchant  despair, 
He  views  it  not,  or  sees  no  beauty  there  ; 
With  aching  heart,  and  discontented  looks, 
Returns  at  noon  to  billiards  or  to  books, 
Bat  feels,  while  grasping  at  his  faded  joys, 
A  secret  thirst  of  his  renounced  employs. 
He  chides  the  tardiness  of  every  post, 
Pants  to  be  told  of  battles  won  or  lost, 
Blames  his  own  indolence,  observes,  though  late, 
JTis  criminal  to  leave  a  sinking  state, 
Flies  to  the  levee,  and  received  with  grace, 
Kneels,  kisses  hands,  and  shines  again  in  place. 

Suburban  villas,  high  way -side  retreats, 
That  dread  th'  encroachment  of  our  growing  streets, 
Tight  boxes  neatly  sashed,  and  in  a  blaze 
With  all  a  July  sun's  collected  rays, 
Delight  the  citizen,  who,  gasping  there, 
Breathes  clouds  of  dust,  and  calls  it  country  air. 
O  sweet  retirement,  who  would  balk  the  thought, 
That  could  afford  retirement,  or  could  not  ? 
'Tis  such  an  easy  walk,  so  smooth  arid  straight, 
The  second  milestone  fronts  the  garden  gate ; 
A  step  if  fair,  and  if  a  shower  approach, 
You  find  safe  shelter  in  the  next  stage-coach. 
There,  prisoned  in  a  parlour  snug  and  small, 
Like  bottled  wasps  upon  a  southern  wall, 
The  man  of  business  and  his  friends  compressed, 
Forget  their  labours,  and  yet  find  no  rest : 
But  still,  'tis  rural— trees  are  to  be  seen 
From  every  window,  and  the  fields  are  green  ; 
Ducks  paddle  in  the  pond  before  the  door, 
And  what  could  a  remoter  scene  show  more  ? 
A  sense  of  elegance  we  rarely  find 
The  portion  of  a  mean  or  vulgar  mind, 
And  ignorance  of  better  things  makes  man, 


RETIREMENT.  157 

Who  cannot  much,  rejoice  in  what  he  can. 
And  he,  that  deems  his  leisure  well  bestowed 
In  contemplation  of  a  turnpike-road, 
Is  occupied  as  well,  employs  his  hours 
As  wisely,  and  as  much  improves  his  powers, 
As  he  that  shimbers  in  pavilions  graced 
With  ail  the  charms  of  an  accomplished  taste. 
Yet,  hence,  alas  !  insolvencies  ;  and  hence 
Th'  unpitied  victim  of  ill-judged  expense, 
From  all  his  wearisome  engagements  freed, 
Shakes  hands  with  business  and  retires  indeed. 

Your  prudent  grand -mammas,  ye  modern  belles, 
Content  with  Bristol,  Bath,  and  Tunbridge-wells, 
When  health  required  it  would  consent  to  roam, 
Else  more  attached  to  pleasures  found  at  home. 
But  now  alike,  gay  widow,  virgin,  wife, 
Ingenious  to  diversify  dull  life, 
In  coaches,  chaises,  caravans,  and  hoys, 
Fly  to  the  coast  for  daily,  nightly  joys ; 
And  all,  impatient  of  dry  land,  agree, 
With  one  consent  to  rush  into  the  sea.— 
Ocean  exhibits,  fathomless  and  broad, 
Much  of  the  power  and  majesty  of  God. 
He  swathes  about  the  swelling  of  the  deep, 
That  shines  and  rests,  as  infants  smile  and  sleep , 
Vast  as  it  is,  it  answers  as  it  flows 
The  breathings  of  the  lightest  air  that  blows ; 
Curling  and  whitening  over  all  the  waste, 
The  rising  waves  obey  th*  increasing  blast, 
Abrupt  and  horrid  as  the  tempest  roars, 
Thunder  and  flash  upon  the  steadfast  shores, 
Till  he  that  rides  the  whirlwind,  checks  the  rein, 
Then  all  the  world  of  waters  sleep  again. — 
Nereids  or  Dryads,  as  the  fashion  leads, 
Now  in  the  floods,  now  panting  in  the  meads 
Votaries  of  Pleasure  still,  where'er  she  dwel'.j, 
Near  barren  rocks,  in  palaces,  or  cells, 
O  grant  a  poet  leave  to  recommend 

11 


158  RETIREMENT. 

(A  poet  fond  of  Nature,  and  your  friend) 

Her  slighted  works  to  your  admiring  view  ; 

Her  works  must  needs  excel  who  fashioned  yon. 

Would  ye,  when  rambling  in  your  morning  ride, 

With  some  unmeaning  coxcomb  at  your  side, 

Condemn  the  prattler  for  his  idle  pains, 

To  waste  unheard  the  music  of  his  strains, 

And,  deaf  to  all  th'  impertinence  of  tongue, 

That,  while  it  courts,  affronts  and  does  you  wrong, 

Mark  well  the  finished  plan  without  a  fault, 

The  seas  globose  and  huge,  th'  overarching  vault, 

Earth's  millions  daily  fed,  a  world  employed 

In  gathering  plenty  yet  to  be  enjoyed, 

Till  gratitude  grew  vocal  in  the  praise 

Of  God,  beneficent  in  all  his  ways  ; 

Graced  with  such  wisdom,  how  would  beauty  shine ! 

Ye  want  but  that  to  seem  indeed  divine. 

Anticipated  rents,  and  bills  unpaid, 
Force  many  a  shining  youth  into  the  shade, 
Not  to  redeem  his  time,  but  his  estate, 
And  play  the  fool,  but  at  a  cheaper  rate. 
There,  hid  in  loathed  obscurity,  removed 
Prom  pleasures  left,  but  never  more  beloved, 
He  just  endures,  and  with  a  sickly  spleen 
Sigh's  o'er  the  beauties  of  the  charming  scene. 
Nature  indeed  looks  prettily  in  rhyme ; 
Streams  tinkle  sweetly  in  poetic  chime : 
The  warblings  of  the  blackbird,  clear  and  strong, 
Are  musical  enough  in  Thomson's  song ; 
And  Cobham's  groves,  and  Windsor's  green  retreats, 
When  Pope  describes  them,  have  a  thousand  sweets ; 
He  likes  the  country,  but  in  truth  must  own 
Most  likes  it,  when  he  studies  it  in  town. 

Poor  Jack — no  matter  who — for  when  I  blame 
I  pity,  and  must  therefore  sink  the  name, 
Lived  in  his  saddle,  loved  the  chase,  the  course, 
And  always,  ere  he  mounted,  kissed  his  horse. 
The  estate  his  sires  had  owned  in  ancient  years, 


RETIREMENT.  159 

Was  quickly  distanced,  matched  against  a  peer's. 

Jack  vanished,  was  regretted  and  forgot ; 

'Tis  wild  good-nature's  never-failing  lot. 

At  length,  when  all  had  long  supposed  him  dead, 

By  cold  submersion,  razor,  rope,  or  lead, 

My  lord,  alighting  at  his  usual  place, 

The  Crown,  took  notice  of  an  hostler's  face. 

Jack  knew  his  friend,  but  hoped  in  that  disguise 

He  might  escape  the  most  observing  eyes, 

And  whistling,  as  if  unconcerned  and  gay, 

Curried  his  nag,  and  looked  another  way. 

Convinced  at  last,  upon  a  nearer  view, 

'Twas  he,  the  same,  the  very  Jack  he  knew, 

Overwhelmed  at  once  with  wonder,  grief,  and  joy, 

He  pressed  him  much  to  quit  his  base  employ  ; 

His  countenance,  his  purse,  his  heart,  his  hand, 

Influence  and  power,  were  all  at  his  command  : 

Peers  are  not  always  generous  as  well  bred. 

But  Granby  was,  meant  truly  what  he  said. 

Jack  bowed,  and  was  obi  iged — confessed  'twas  strange, 

That  so  retired  he  should  not  wish  a  change, 

But  knew  no  medium  between  guzzling  beei, 

And  his  old  stint  -  three  thousand  pounds  a  year. 

Thus  some  retire  to  nourish  hopeless  wo ; 
Some  seeking  happiness  not  found  below ; 
Some  to  comply  with  humour,  and  a  mind 
To  social  scenes  by  nature  disinclined  ; 
Some  swayed  by  fashion,  some  by  deep  disgust ; 
Some  self-impoverished,  and  because  they  must ; 
But  few,  that  court  Retirement,  are  aware 
Of  half  the  toils  they  must  encounter  there. 

Lucrative  offices  are  seldom  lost 
For  want  of  powers  proportioned  to  the  post : 
Give  e'en  a  dunce  th'  employment  he  desires. 
And  he  soon  finds  the  talents  it  requires  ; 
A  business  with  an  income  at  its  heels 
Furnishes  always  oil  for  its  own  wheels. 
But  in  his  arduous  enterprise  to  close 


60  RETIREMENT. 

His  active  years  with  indolent  repose, 

He  finds  the  labours  of  that  state  exceed 

His  utmost  faculties,  severe  indeed. 

'Tis  easy  to  resign  a  toilsome  place, 

But  not  to  manage  leisure  with  a  grace  ; 

Absence  of  occupation  is  not  rest, 

A  mind  quite  vacant  is  a  mind  distressed. 

The  veteran  steed,  excused  his  task  at  length, 

In  kind  compassion  of  his  failing  strength, 

And  turned  into  the  park  or  mead  to  graze, 

Exempt  from  future  service  all  his  days, 

There  feels  a  pleasure  perfect  in  its  kind, 

Ranges  at  liberty,  and  snuffs  the  wind : 

But  when  his  lord  would  quit  the  busy  road, 

To  taste  a  joy  like  that  he  has  bestowed, 

He  proves  less  happy  than  his  favoured  brute, 

A  life  of  ease  a  difficult  pursuit. 

Thought,  to  the  man  that  never  thinks,  may  seem 

As  natural  as  when  asleep  to  dream ; 

But  reveries  (for  human  minds  will  act) 

Specious  in  show,  impossible  in  fact, 

Those  flimsy  webs,  that  break  as  soon  as  wrought, 

Attain  not  to  the  dignity  of  thought : 

Nor  yet  the  swarms  that  occupy  the  brain, 

Where  dreams  of  dress,  intrigue,  and  pleasure  reigri, 

Nor  such  as  useless  conversation  breeds, 

Or  lust  engenders,  and  indulgence  feeds. 

Whence,  and  what  are  we  ?  to  what  end  ordained  ? 

What  means  the  drama  by  the  world  sustained  ? 

Business  or  vain  amusement,  care  or  mirth, 

Divide  the  frail  inhabitants  of  earth. 

Is  duty  a  mere  sport,  or  an  employ  ? 

Lafe  an  intrusted  talent,  or  a  toy  ? 

Is  there,  as  reason,  conscience.  Scripture  say, 

Cause  to  provide  for  a  great  future  day, 

When,  earth's  assigned  duration  at  an  end, 

Man  shall  be  summoned  and  the  dead  attend  ? 

The  trumpet — will  it  sound  the  curtain  rise, 


RETIREMENT.  161 

And  show  th'  august  tribunal  of  the  skies  ; 
Where  no  prevarication  shall  avail, 
Where  eloquence  and  artifice  shall  fail, 
The  pride  of  arrogant  distinctions  fall, 
And  conscience  and  our  conduct  judge  us  all  ? 
Pardon  me,  ye  that  give  the  midnight  oil 
To  learned  cares,  or  philosophic  toil, 
Though  I  revere  your  honourable  names 
Your  useful  labours,  and  important  aims, 
And  hold  the  world  indebted  to  your  aid, 
Enriched  with  the  discoveries  ye  have  made ; 
Yet  let  me  stand  excused,  if  I  esteem 
A  mind  employed  on  so  sublime  a  theme, 
Pushing  her  bold  inquiry  to  the  date 
And  outline  of  the  present  transient  state, 
And,  after  poising  her  adventurous  wings, 
Settling  at  last  upon  eternal  things, 
Far  more  intelligent  and  better  taught 
The  strenuous  use  of  profitable  thought, 
Than  ye,  when  happiest,  and  enlightened  most, 
And  highest  in  renown,  can  justly  boast. 

A  mind  unnerved,  or  indisposed  to  bear 
The  weight  of  subjects  worthiest  of  her  care. 
Whatever  hopes  a  change  of  scene  inspires, 
Must  change  her  nature,  or  in  vain  retires. 
An  idler  is  a  watch,  that  wants  both  hands, 
As  useless  if  it  goes,  as  when  it  stands. 
Books,  therefore,  not  the  scandal  of  the  shelves, 
In  which  lewd  sensualists  print  out  themselves  ; 
Nor  those  in  which  the  stage  gives  vice  a  blow, 
With  what  success  let  modern  manners  show ; 
Nor  his  who,  for  the  bane  of  thousands  born, 
Built  God  a  church,  and  laughed  his  word  to  scorn, 
Skilful  alike  to  seem  devout  and  just, 
And  stab  religion  with  a  sly  side-thrust ; 
Nor  those  of  learned  philologists,  who  chase 
A  panting  syllable  through  time  and  space, 
Start  at  it  home,  and  nun  1  it  in  the  dark, 
1  i 


102  RETIREMENT. 

To  Gaul,  to  Greece,  and  into  Noah's  ark  ; 

But  such  as  Learning  without  false  pretence, 

The  friend  of  Truth,  the  Associate  of  good  Sense, 

And  such  as,  in  the  zeal  of  good  design, 

Strong  judgment  labouring  in  the  Christian  mine, 

All  such  as  manly  and  great  souls  produce, 

Worthy  to  live,  and  of  eternal  use  : 

Behold  in  these  what  leisure  hours  demand, 

Amusement  and  true  knowledge  hand  in  hand. 

Luxury  gives  the  mind  a  childish  cast, 

And,  while  she  polishes,  perverts  the  taste  ; 

Habits  of  close  attention,  thinking  heads, 

Become  more  rare  as  dissipation  spreads, 

Till  authors  hear  at  length  one  general  cry,— 

Tickle  and  entertain  us,  or  we  die. 

The  loud  demand,  from  year  to  year  the  same, 

Beggars  Invention  and  makes  Fancy  lame ; 

Till  farce  itself,  most  mournfully  jejune. 

Calls  for  the  kind  assistance  of  a  tune ; 

And  novels  (witness  every  month's  review) 

Belie  their  name,  and  otfer  nothing  new. 

The  mind,  relaxing  into  needful  sport, 

Should  turn  to  writers  of  an  abler  sort, 

Whose  wit  well  managed,  and  whose  classic  style, 

Give  truth  a  lustre,  and  make  wisdom  smile. 

Friends  (for  I  cannot  stint,  as  some  have  done, 

Too  rigid  in  my  view,  that  name  to  one  ; 

Though  one,  I  grant  it,  in  the  generous  breast 

Will  stand  advanced  a  step  above  the  rest ; 

Flowers  by  that  name  promiscuously  we  call, 

But  one,  the  rose,  the  regent  of  them  all) — 

Friends,  not  adopted  with  a  schoolboy's  haste, 

But  chosen  with  a  nice  discerning  taste, 

Well-born,  well-disciplined,  who,  placed  apart 

From  vulgar  minds,  have  honour  much  at  heart, 

And,  though  the  world  may  think  th'  ingredients  odd, 

The  love  of  virtue,  and  the  fear  of  God  ! 

Such  friends  prevent  what  else  would  soon  succeed, 


RETIREMENT.  163 

A  temper  rustic  as  the  life  we  lead, 
And  keep  the  polish  of  the  manners  clean 
As  theirs  who  bustle  in  the  busiest  scene  ;     . 
For  solitude,  however  some  may  rave, 
Seeming1  a  sanctuary,  proves  a  grave, 
A  sepulchre  in  which  the  living  lie, 
Where  all  good  qualities  grow  sick  and  die. 
I  praise  the  Frenchman,*  his  remark  was  shrewd-- 
How sweet,  how  passing  sweet,  is  solitude  ! 
But  grant  me  still  a  friend  in  my  retreat, 
Whom  I  may  whisper—  solitude  is  sweet. 
Yet  neither  these  delights,  nor  aught  beside, 
That  appetite  can  ask,  or  wealth  provide, 
Can  save  us  always  from  a  tedious  day, 
Or  shine  the  dulness  of  still  life  away : 
Divine  communion,  carefully  enjoyed, 
Or  sought  with  energy,  must  iill  the  void. 
O  sacred  art,  to  which  alone  life  owes 
Its  happiest  seasons,  and  a  peaceful  close, 
Scorned  in  a  world,  indebted  to  that  scorn 
For  evils  daily  felt  and  hardly  borne, 
Not  knowing  thee,  we  reap  with  bleeding  hands 
Flowers  of  rank  odour  upon  thorny  lands, 
And,  while  Experience  cautions  us  in  vain, 
Grasp  seeming  happiness,  and  find  it  pain. 
Despondence,  self-deserted  in  her  grief, 
Lost  by  abandoning  her  own  relief, 
Murmuring  and  ungrateful  Discontent, 
That  scorns  afflictions  mercifully  meant, 
Those  humours,  tart  as  wine  upon  the  fret, 
Which  idleness  and  weariness  beget ; 
These,  and  a  thousand  plagues,  that  haunt  the  breast, 
Fond  of  the  phantom  of  an  earthly  rest, 
Divine  communion  chases,  as  the  day 
Drives  to  their  dens  th'  obedient  beasts  of  prey. 
See  Judah's  promised  king  bereft  of  all, 
Driven  out  an  exile  from  the  face  of  Saul, 
To  distant  caves  the  lonely  wanderer  flies, 

*Bruvere. 


164  RETIREMENT. 

To  seek  that  peace  a  tyrant's  frown  denies. 
Hear  the  sweet  accents  of  his  tuneful  voice, 
Hear  him.,  o'er  whelmed  with  sorrow,  yet  rejoice ; 
No  womanish  or  wailing  grief  has  part, 
No,  not  a  moment,  in  his  royal  heart ; 
'Tis  manly  music,  such  as  martyrs  make, 
Suffering  with  gladness  for  a  Saviour's  sake ; 
His  soul  exults,  hope  animates  his  lays, 
The  sense  of  mercy  kindles  into  praise, 
And  wilds,  familiar  with  a  lion's  roar, 
Ring  with  ecstatic  sounds  unheard  before  : 
'Tis  love  like  his,  that  can  alone  defeat 
The  foes  of  man,  or  make  a  desert  sweet. 

Religion  does  not  censure  or  exclude 
Unnumbered  pleasures  harmlessly  pursued ; 
To  study  culture,  and  with  artful  toil 
To  meliorate  and  tame  the  stubborn  soil ; 
To  give  dissimilar  yet  fruitful  lands 
The  grain,  or  herb,  or  plant  that  each  demands \ 
To  cherish  virtue  in  an  humble  state, 
And  share  the  joys  your  bounty  may  create  ; 
To  mark  the  matchless  workings  of  the  power 
That  shuts  within  its  seed  the  future  flower, 
Bids  these  in  elegance  of  form  excel, 
In  colour  these,  and  those  delight  the  smell, 
Sends  Nature  forth  the  daughter  of  the  skies, 
To  dance  on  earth  and  charm  all  human  eyes  j 
To  teach  the  canvass  innocent  deceit, 
Or  lay  the  landscape  on  the  snowy  sheet — 
These,  these  are  arts  pursued  without  a  crime, 
That  leave  no  stain  upon  the  wing  of  Time. 

Me  poetry  (or  rather  notes  that  aim 
Feebly  and  vainly  at  poetic  fame) 
Employs,  shut  out  from  more  important  views, 
Fast  by  the  banks  of  the  slow  winding  Ouse ; 
Content  if  thus  sequestered  I  may  raise 
A  monitor's  though  not  a  poet's  praise, 
And  while  I  teach  an  art  too  little  known, 
To  closo  life  wisely,  may  not  waste  my  own. 


THE  TASK.  155 

/ 
THE  TASK. 

BOOK  I. 
ADVERTISEMENT. 

THE  rif/tory  of  the  following  production  is  briefly  this :  A  lady,  fond 
of  blank  verse,  demanded  a  poem  of  that  kind  from  the  author,  and  gave 
him  the  SOFA  for  a  subject.  He  obeyed ;  and  having  much  leisure, 
connected  another  subject  with  it;  and  pursuing  the  train  of  thought  to 
which  his  situation  and  turn  of  mind  led  him,  brought  forth  at  length, 
instead  of  the  trifle  which  he  at  first  intended,  a  serious  affair— a 
Volume. 

In  the  poem  on  the  subject  of  Education,  he  would  be  very  sorry  to 
stand  suspected  of  having  aimed  his  censure  at  any  particular  school. 
His  objections  are  such,  as  naturally  apply  themselves  to  schools  in 
general.  If  there  were  not,  as  for  the  most  part  there  is,  wilful  neglect 
in  those  who  manage  them,  and  an  omission  even  of  such  discipline  as 
they  are  susceptible  of,  the  objects  are  yet  too  numerous  for  minute 
attention ;  and  the  aching  hearts  of  ten  thousand  parents,  mourning 
under  the  bitterest  of  all  disappointments,  attest  the  truth  of  the  allegation. 
His  quarrel,  therefore,  is  with  the  mischief  at  large,  and  not  with  any 
particular  instance  of  it 


THE  SOFA. 
ARGUMENT. 

Historical  deduction  of  seats,  from  the  Stool  to  the  Sofa.— A  School- 
boy's ramble.— A  walk  in  the  country.— The  scene  described.— Rural 
sounds  as  well  as  sights  delightful. — Another  walk. — Mistake  concerning 
the  charms  of  solitude  corrected. — Colonnades  commended. — Alcove,  ana 
the  view  from  it.— The  wilderness.— The  grove.— The  thresher.— The 
necessity  arid  the  benefits  of  exercise. — The  works  of  nature  superior  to, 
and  in  some  instances  inimitable  by,  art. — The  wearisomeness  of  what 
is  commonly  called  a  life  of  pleasure.— Change  of  scene  sometimes  ex- 
pedient.—A  common  described,  and  the  character  of  crazy  Kate  intro- 
duced.— Gipsies. — The  blessings  of  civilized  life. — That  state  most  fa- 
vourable to  virtue. — The  South  Sea  islanders  compassionated,  but 
chiefly  Omai. — His  present  state  of  mind  supposed. — Civilized  life  friend- 
ly to  virtue,  but  not  great  cities. — Great  cities,  and  London  in  particular, 
allowed  their  due  praises,  but  censured.— Fete  Champetre. — The  book 
concludes  with  a  reflection  on  the  fatal  effects  of  dissipation  and  effemi' 
nacy  upon  our  public  measures. 

I  STNG  the  Sofa,  I,  who  lately  sang 
Truth,  Hope,  and  Charity,  and  touched  with  awe 
The  solemn  chords,  and  with  a  trembling  hand, 
Escaped  with  pain  from  that  adventurous  flight, 
Now  seek  repose  upon  an  humbler  theme; 


U>6  THE  TASK. 

The  theme  th   igh  humble,  yet  august  and  proud 
Th'  occasion — for  the  Fair  commands  the  song. 

Time  was,  when  clothing  sumptuous  or  for  use, 
Save  their  own  painted  skins,  our  sires  had  none. 
As  yet  black  breeches  were  not ;  satin  smooth, 
Or  velvet  soft,  or  plush  with  shaggy  pile ; 
The  hardy  chief  upon  the  rugged  rock 
Washed  by  the  sea,  or  on  the  gravelly  bank 
Thrown  up  by  wintry  torrents  roaring  loud, 
Fearless  of  wrong,  reposed  his  weary  strength. 
Those  barbjarou£ages^pas^_succeeded  next 
The^liijllacday^in^^          weak  at  first, 
Dull  in  design,  and  clumsy  to  perform. 
Joint-stools  were  then  created  ;  on  three  legs 
Upborne  they  stood.     Three  legs  upholding  firm 
A  massy  slab,  in  fashion  square  or  round. 
On  such  a  stool  immortal  Alfred  sat, 
And  swayed  the  sceptre  of  his  infant  realms  : 
And  such  in  ancient  halls  and  mansions  drear 
May  still  be  seen  ;  but  perforated  sore, 
And  drilled  in  holes,  the  solid  oak  is  found, 
By  worms  voracious  eaten  through  and  through. 

At  length  a  generation  more  refined 
Improved  the  simple  plan  ;  made  three  legs  four, 
Gave  them  a  twisted  form  vermicular, 
And  o'er  the  seat  with  plenteous  wadding  stuffed, 
Induced  a  splendid  cover,  green  and  blue, 
Yellow  and  red,  of  tapestry  richly  wrought 
And  woven  close,  or  needlework  sublime. 
There  might  you  see  the  piony  spread  wide, 
The  full  blown  rose,  the  shepherd  and  his  lass, 
Lapdog  and  lambkin  with  black  staring  eyes, 
And  parrots  with  twin  cherries  in  their  beak. 

Now  came  the  cane  from  India,  smooth  and  bright 
With  Nature's  varnish  ;  severed  into  stripes, 
That  interlaced  each  other,  these  supplied 
Of  texture  firm  a  lattice-work,  that  braced 
The  new  machine,  and  it  became  a  chair. 


THE   TASK.  167 

But  restless  was  the  chair  ;  the  back  erect 
Distressed  the  weary  loins,  that  felt  •  »o  ease  ; 
The  slippery  seat  betrayed  the  slidi  .ig  part 
That  pressed  it,  and  the  feet  hung  dangling  down, 
Anxious  in  vain,  to  find  the  distant  floor. 
These  for  the  rich  ;  the  rest  wh<?  A  Fate  had  placed 
In  modest  mediocrity,  content 
With  base  materials,  sat  on  well  canned  hides, 
Obdurate  and  unyielding,  glassy  smooth, 
With  here  and  there  a  tuft  of  crimson  yarn, 
Or  scarlet  crewel,  in  the  cush'on  fixed, 
If  cushion  might  be  called,  what  harder  seemed 
Than  the  firm  oak,  of  whie'i  the  frame  was  formed. 
/No  want  of  timber  then  was  felt  or  feared 
\Jn  Albion's  happy  isle.      The  lumber  stood 
Ponderous  and  fixed  by  ''is  own  massy  weight. 
But  elbows  still  were  wanting  ;  these,  some  say 
An  alderman  of  Cripplegate  contrived ; 
And  some  ascribe  th)  invention  to  a  priest, 
Burly,  and  big,  ar.d  studious  of  his  ease. 
But  rude  at  fir?:,  ?nd  not  with  easy  slope 
Receding  \rido,  they  pressed  against  the  ribs, 
And  bruised  the  side  ;  and,  elevated  high, 
Taught  the  raised  shoulders  to  invade  the  ears, 
Long  time  elapsed  or  e'er  our  rugged  sires 
Complained,  though  incommodiously  pent  in, 
^nd  ill  at  ease  behind.     The  ladies  first 
Gan  murmur,  as  became  the  softer  sex. 
'ngenious  Fancy,  never  better  pleased, 
Than  when  employed  t'  accommodate  the  fair 
rleard  the  sweet  moan  with  pity,  and  devised 
The  soft  settee ;  one  elbow  at  each  end. 
A.nd  in  the  midst  an  elbow  it  received, 
'Jnited  yet  divided,  twain  at  once. 
So  sit  two  kings  of  Brentford  on  one  throne ; 
&nd  so  two  citizens,  who  take  the  air, 
Olose  packed,  and  smiling,  in  a  chaise  and  one. 
But  relaxation  of  the  languid  frame, 


168  THE  TASK. 

Was  bliss  reserved  for  happier  days.     So  slow 
The  growth  of  what  is  excellent ;  so  hard 
T'  attain  perfection  in  this  nether  world. 
/Thus  first  necessity  invented  stoolr>, 

/Convenience  next  suggested  elbow  chairs. 

^And  Luxury  th'  accomplished  Sofa  last. 

"The nurse  sleeps  sweetly,  hired  to  watch  the  SJCK, 
Whom  snoring  she  disturbs.     As  sweetly  he, 
Who  quits  the  coach-box  at  the  midnight  hour, 
To  sleep  within  the  carriage  more  secure. 
His  legs  depending  at  the  open  door. 
Sweet  sleep  enjoys  the  curate  in  his  desk, 
The  tedious  rector  drawling  o'er  his  head  ; 
And  sweet  the  clerk  be-low     But  neither  sleep 
Of  lazy  nurse,  who  snores  the  sick  man  dead  ; 
Nor  his,  who  quits  the  box  at  midnight  hour, 
To  slumber  in  the  carriage  more  secure ; 
Nor  sleep  enjoyed  by  curate  in  his  desk ; 
Nor  yet  the  dozings  of  the  clerk,  are  sweet, 

(Compared  with  the  repose  the  Sofa  yields. 

O  may  I  live  exempted  (while  I  live 
Guiltless  of  pampered  appetite  obscene) 
From  pangs  arthritic,  that  infest  the  toe 
Of  libertine  Excess.     The  Sofa  suits 
The  gouty  limb,  'tis  true  :  but  gouty  limb 

f  Though  on  a  Sofa,  may  I  never  feel ; 

'  For  I  have  loved  the  rural  walk  through  lanes 
Of  grassy  swarth,  close  cropped  by  nibbling  sheeft 
And  skirted  thick  with  intertexture  firm 
Of  thorny  boughs  ;  have  loved  the  rural  walk 
O'er  hills,  through  valleys,  and  by  rivers'  brink, 
Erer  since  a  truant  boy  I  passed  my  bounds, 
T'  enjoy  a  ramble  on  the  banks  of  Thames ; 
And  still  remember  nor  without  regret 
Of  hours,  that  sorrow  since  has  much  endeared. 
How  oft,  my  slice  of  pocket  store  consumed, 
Still  hungering,  pennyless,  arid  far  from  home, 
I  fed  on  scarlet  hips  and  stony  haws, 


THE   TASK.  169 

Or  blushing  crabs,  or  berries,  that  emboss 
The  bramble,  black  as  jet,  or  sloes  austere. 
Hard  fare  !  but  such  as  boyish  appetite 
Disdains  not ;  nor  the  palate  undepraved 
By  culinary  arts,  unsavoury  deems. 
No  Sofa  then  awaited  my  return  ; 
Nor  Sofa  then  I  needed.     Youth  repairs 
His  wasted  spirits  quickly,  by  long  toil 
Incurring  short  fatigue  ;  and  though  our  years, 
As  life  declines,  speed  rapidly  away, 
And  not  a. year  but  pilfers  as  he  goes 
Some  youthful  grace,  that  age  would  gladly  keep ; 
A  tooth  or  auburn  lock,  and  by  degrees 
Their  length  and  colour  from  the  locks  they  spare  ; 
Th'  elastic  spring  of  an  unwearied  foot, 
That  mounts  the  stile  with  ease,  or  leaps  the  fence, 
That  play  of  lungs,  inhaling  and  again 
Respiring  freely  the  fresh  air,  that  makes 
Swift  pace  or  steep  ascent,  no  toil  to  me, 
Mine  have  not  pilfered  yet,  nor  yet  impaired 
My  relish  or  fair  prospect  ;fscenes  that  soothed 
Or  charmed  me  young  nojonger  young,  I  find 
Still  soothing,  and  of  power  to  charm  me  still. 
And  witness,  dear  companion  of  my  walks, 
Whose  arm  this  twentieth  winter  I  perceive 
Fast  locked  in  mine,  with  pleasure  such  as  love, 
Confirmed  by  long  experience  of  thy  worth 
And  well  tried  virtues  could  alone  inspire — 
Witness  a  joy  that  thou  hast  doubled  long. 
/Thou  knowest  my  praise  of  nature  most  sincere, 
yAnd  that  my  raptures  are  not  conjured  up 
To  serve  occasions  of  poetic  pomp, 

But  genuine,  and  art  partner  of  them  all.  ,  *j>/£* 

(How  oft  upon  yon  eminence  our  pace 
/  Has  slackened  to  a  pause,  and  we  have  borne 
The  ruffling  wind,  scarce  conscious  that  it  blew, 
While  admiration,  feeding  at  the  eye, 
I  And  still  unsated  dwelt  upon  the  scene. 

15 


I/O  THK   TASK. 

Thence  with  what  pleasure  have  we  just  discerned 
The  distant  plough  slow  moving,  and  beside 
His  labouring  team,  that  swerved  not  from  the  t*»<*k, 
The  sturdy  swain  diminished  to  a  boy  ! 
Here  Ouse,  slow  winding  through  a  1-evel  plan? 
Of  spacious  meads  with  cattle  sprinkled  o'er. 
Conducts  the  eye  along  his  sinuous  course 
Delighted.     There,  fast  rooted  in  their  bank, 
Stand,  never  overlooked,  our  favourite  elms, 
That  screen  the  herdsman's  solitary  hut ; 
While  far  beyond,  and  over  thwart  the  stream, 
That,  as  with  molten  glass,  inlays  the  vale, 
The  sloping  land  recedes  into  the  clouds  ; 
Displaying  on  its  varied  side  the  grace 
Of  hedge-row  beauties  numberless,  square  tower 
Tall  spire,  from  which  the  sound  of  cheerful  bell 
Just  undulates  upon  the  listening  ear, 
Groves,  heaths,  and  smoking  villages,  remote. 
Scenes  must  be  beautiful,  which  daily  viewed 
Please  daily,  and  whose  novelty  survives 
Long  knowledge  and  the  scrutiny  of  years : 
Praise  justly  due  to  those  that  I  describe. 

I^jMraraLsight^J^^^ 
Exhilarate  the  spirit  and  restore 
The  tone  of  languid  Nature.     Mighty  winds, 
That  sweep  the  skirt  of  some  far-spreading  wood 
Of  ancient  growth,  make  music  not  unlike 
The  dash  of  Ocean  on  his  winding  shore, 
And  lull  the  spirit  while  they  fill  the  mind ; 
Unnumbered  branches  waving  in  the  blast, 
And  all  their  leaves  fast  fluttering,  all  at  once. 
Nor  less  composure  waits  upon  the  roar 
Of  distant  floods,  or  on  the  softer  voice 
Of  neighboring  fountain,  or  of  rills  that  slip 
Through  the  cleft  rock,  and,  chiming  as  they  tall 
Upon  loose  pebbles,  lose  themselves  at  length 
In  matted  grass,  that  with  a  livelier  green 
Betrays  the  secret  of  their  silent  course. 


THE   TASK.  1/1 

Nature  inanimate  employs  sweet  sounds, 
But_ammat£d_  nature  sweeter  still, 
To  soonTanoTsatisfy  the  human  ear. 
Ten  thousand  warblers  cheer  the  day,  and  one 
The  livelong  night :  nor  these  alone,  whose  notes 
Nice-fingered  art  must  emulate  in  vain, 
But  cawing  rooks,  and  kites  that  swim  sublime 
In  still  repeated  circles,  screaming  loud, 
The  jay,  the  pie,  and  e'en  the  boding  owl, 
That  hails  the  rising  moon, (have  charms  for  me.) 
Sounds  inharmonious  in  themselves  and  harsh, 
Yet  heard  in  scenes  where  peace  for  ever  reigns, 
And  only  there,  please  highly  for  their  sake. 
Peace  to  the  artist  whose  ingenious  thought 
Devised  the  weather-house,  that  useful  toy  ! 
Fearless  of  humid  air  and  gathering  rains, 
(Forth  steps  the  man — an  emblem  of  myself  \J 
More  delicate  his  timorous  mate  retires. 
When  Winter  soaks  the  fields,  and  female  feet, 
Too  weak  to  struggle  with  tenacious  clay, 
Or  ford  the  rivulets,  are  best  at  home, 
Thejask  of  new  discoveries  falls  on  me^ 
At  such  a  season,  and  with  such  a  charge, 
Once  went  I  forth ;  and  found,  till  then  unknown 
^jQOttage,  whither  oft  we  since  repair ; 
7Tis  perched   upon  the  green  hill  tops,  but  close 
Environed  with  a  ring  of  branching  elms 
That  overhang  the  thatch,  itself  unseen 
Peeps  at  the  vale  below ;  so  thick  beset 
Witfi  foliage  of  such  dark  redundant  growth, 
I  called  the  low-roofed  lodge  the  peasant's  nest. 
And,  hidden  as  it  is,  and  far  remote 
From  such  unpleasing  sounds,  as  haunt  the  ear 
In  village  or  in  town,  the  bay  of  curs 
Incessant,  clinking  hammers,  grinding  wheels, 
And  infants  clamorous,  whether  pleased  or  pained. 
Oft  have  I  wished  the  peaceful  covert  mine. 
Herv,,  I  have  said,  at  least  I  should  possess 


172  THE   TASK. 


The  poet's  treasure,  silence,  and  indulge 
.The  dreams  of  fancy,  tranquil  and  secure. 
*       Vain  thought !  the  dweller  in  that  still  retreat 
Dearly  obtains  the  refuge  it  affords. 
Its  elevated  site  forbids  the  wretch 
To  drink  sweet  waters  of  the  crystal  well ; 
He  dips  the  bowl  into  the  weedy  ditch, 
And,  heavy  laden,  brings  his  beverage  home, 
Far  fetched  and  little  worth  ;  nor  seldom  waits, 
Dependent  on  the  baker's  punctual  call, 
To  hear  his  creaking  panniers  at  the  door, 
Angry  and  sad,  and  his  last  crust  consumed, 
Sp_jarewell  en  vjr  of  thejzeasanfs  nest  ! 
"u  solitude  makes  scant  the  means  of  life, 

("Society  for  me  ! — thou  seeming  sweet, 

'Be  still  a  pleasing  object  in  my  view  ; 
My  visit  still,  but  never  mine  abode. 

Not  distant  far,  a  length  of  colonnade 
Invites  us.     Monument  oifancient  taste,  ^^ 

Now  scorned,  but  worthy  oFa  better  fate. 
Our  fathers  knew  the  value  of  a  screen 
Prom  sultry  suns  :  and,  in  their  shaded  walks 
And  long  protracted  bowers,  enjoyed  at  noon 
The  gloom  and  coolness  of  declining  day. 

^We  bear  our  shades  about  us  ;  self-deprived 
Of  other  screen,  the  thin  umbrella  spread, 
And  range  an  Indian  waste  without  a  tree. 
Thanks  to  Benevolus*  he  spares  me  yet 
These  chestnuts  ranged  in  corresponding  lines  j 
And,  though  himself  so  polished,  still  reprieves 
The  obsolete  prolixity  of  shade. 

Descending  now  (but  cautious,  lest  too  fast) 
A  sudden  steep,  upon  a  rustic  bridge 
We  pass  a  gulf,  in  which  the  willows  dip 
Their  pendent  boughs,  stooping  as  if  to  drink. 
Hence,  ankle  deep  in  moss  and  flowery  thyme, 
We  mount  again,  and  feel  at  every  step 

*  John  Courtney  Throckmorton,  Esq.  of  Weston  Underwood 


THE   TASK.  173 


Our  foot  half  sunk  in  hillocks  green  and  soft, 
Raised  by  the  mole,  the  miner  of  the  soil. 
He,  not  unlikelnVgreat  ones  of  mankind, 
Disfigures  Earth :  and,  plotting  in  the  dark, 
^  Toils  much  to  earn  a  monumental  pile, 
That  may  record  the  mischiefs  he  has  done. 
{    The  summit  gained,  behold  the  proud  alcove 
~X   That  crowns  it !  yet  not  all  its  pride  secures 
f£he  grand  retreat  from  injuries  impressed 
By  rural  carvers,  who  with  knives  deface 
The  pannels,  leaving  an  obscure,  rude  name, 
In  characters  un couch,  and  spelt  amiss. 
So  strong  the  zeal  to  immortalize  himself 
Beats  in  the  breast  of  man,  that  e'en  a  few, 
Few  transient  years,  won  from  the  abysr*  abhorred 
Of  blank  oblivion,  seem  a  glorious  prize, 
And  even  to  a  clown  !J   Now  roves  the  eye  ; 
And,  posted  on  this  speculative  height, 
Exults  in  its  command.     The  sheepfold  here 
Pours  out  its  fleecy  tenants  o'eFthe  glebe. 
At  first,  progressive  as  a  stream,  they  seek 
The  middle  field ;  but  scattered  by  degrees, 
Each  to  his  choice,  soon  whiten  all  the  land. 
There  from  the  sun-burnt  hayfield  homeward  creeps 
The  loaded  wain  ;  while,  lightened  of  its  charge, 
The  wain  that  meets  it  passes  swiftly  by  ; 
The  boorish  driver  leaning  o'er  his  team 
Vociferous,  and  impatient  of  delay. 
Nor  less  attractive  is  the  woodlandjscene, 
Diversified  with  trees  of  every  growth, 
Alike,  yet  various.     Here  the  gray  smooth  trunks 
Of  ash,  or  lime,  or  beech,  distinctly  shine, 
Within  the  twilight  of  their  distant  shades  ; 
There,  lost  behind  a  rising  ground,  the  wood 
Seems  sunk,  and  shortened  to  its  topmost  boughs. 
No  tree  in  all  the  grove  but  has  its  charms, 
Though  each  its  hue  peculiar  ;  paler  some, 
And  of  a  wanish  gray  ;  the  willow  such, 
15* 


174  THE   TASK. 

And  poplar,  that  with  silver  lines  his  leaf, 

And  ash  far  stretching  his  umbrageous  arm, 

Of  deeper  green  the  elm ;  and  deeper  still, 

Lord  of  the  woods,  the  long-surviving  oak. 

Some  glossy-leaved,  and  shining  in  the' sun, 

The  maple,  and  the  beech  of  oily  nuts 

Prolific,  and  the  lime  at  dewy  eve 

Diffusing  odours  :  nor  unnoted  pass 

The  sycamore,  capricious  in  attire, 

Now  green,  now  tawny,  and  ere  autumn  yet 

Have  changed  the  woods,  in  scarlet  honours  bright 

O'er  these,  but  far  beyond  (a  spacious  map 

Of  hill  ancL,¥a]ley  interposed  between,) 

The  Ouse  dividing  the  well-watered  land, 

Now  glitters  in  the  sun,  and  now  retires, 

As,  bashful,  yet  impatient  to  be  seen. 

Hence  the  declivity  is  sharp  and  short, 
And  such  a  reascent ;  between  them  weeps 
[A  little  naiad  her  impoverished  urn 
LA11  summer  long,  which  winter  fills  again. 
The  folded  .gates  would  bar  my  progress  now, 
But  that  the  lord*  of  this  enclosed  demesne^ 
Communicative  of  the  good  he  owns, 
Admits  me  to  a  share ;  the  guiltless  eye 
Commits  no  wrong,  nor  wastes  what  it  enjoys. 
Refreshing  change  !  where  now  the  blazing  sun  ? 
By  short  transition  we  have  lost  his  glare, 
And  stepped  at  once  into  a  cooler  clime. 
Ye  fallen_aveniies !  once  more  I  mourn 
Your  fate  unmerited,  once  more  rejoice 
That  yet  a  remnant  of  your  race  survives. 
How  airy  and  how  light  the  graceful  arch, 
Yet  awful  as  the  consecrated  roof 
Re-echoing  pious  anthems  !  while  beneath 
1  The  checkered  earth  seems  restless  as  a  flood 
I  Brushed  by  the  wind.     So  sportive  is  the  light 
Shot  through  the  boughs,  it  dances  as  they  dance. 

*  See  the  foregoing  note. 


THE  TASK.  175 

Shadow  and  sunshine  intermingling  quick, 
And  darkening  and  enlightening,  as  the  leaves 
Play  wanton,  every  moment,  every  spot. 

And   now,  with  nerves  new-braced   and   spirits 

cheered, 

We  tread  the  wilderness,  whose  well-rolled  walks, 
With  curvature  of  slow  and  easy  sweep — 
Deception  innocent — give  ample  space 
To  narrow  bounds.     The  grove  receives  us  next ; 
Between  the  upright  shafts  of  whose  tall  elms 
We  may  discern  the  thrgsher  at  his  task. 
Thump  after  thump  resounds  the  constant  flail, 
That  seems  to  swing  uncertain,  and  yet  falls 
Full  on  the  destined  ear.     Wide  flies  the  chaff", 
The  rustling  straw  sends  up  a  frequent  mist 
Of  atoms,  sparkling  in  the  noonday  beam. 
fCome  hither,  ye  that  press  your  beds  of  down, 
\^Lnd  sleep  not ;  see  him  sweating  o'er  his  bread 
Before  he  eats  it.     'Tis  the  primal  curse, 
But  softened  into  mercy  ;  and  made  the  pledge 
Of  cheerful  days,  and  nights  without  a  groan. 

By  ceaseless  action  all  that  is  subsists. 
Constant  rotation  of  th'  unwearied  wheel, 
That  nature  rides  upon,  maintains  her  health, 
Her  beauty,  her  fertility.     She  dreads 
An  instant's  pause,  and  lives  but  while _she  moves. 
Its  own  revolvency  upholds  the  world. 
Winds  from  all  quarters  agitate  the  air, 
And  fit  the  limpid  element  for  use, 
Else  noxious  ;  oceans,  rivers,  lakes,  and  streams, 
All  feel  the  freshening  impulse,  and  are  cleansed 
By  restless  undulation  ;  e'en  the  oak 
Thrives  by  the  rude  concussion  of  the  storm: 
He  seems  indeed  indignant,  and  to  feel 
Th'  impression  of  the  blast  w'"h  proud  disdain, 
Frowning,  as  if  in  his  uncon,    ous  arm 
He  held  the  thunder :  but  the  monarch  owes 
Hjg^firm  stability  to  whatJuLsco  r>  s, 


176  THE   TASK. 


^  fixed  Jbelow,  the  more  disturbed  above. 
The,  law,  by  which  all  creatures  else  are  bound^ 
R^d^jrnan^  the  lord  of  all.     Himself  derives 
J\o"mean  advantage  from  a  kindred  cause, 
From  strenuous  toil  his  hours  of  sweetest  ease. 
The  sedentar  jjtretchjh^ 
When  Custom  bids,  but  no  refreshment  find, 
For  hone  they  need  :  the  languid  eye,  the  cheek 
Deserted  of  its  bloom,  the  flaccid,  shrunk, 
And  withered  muscle,  and  the  vapid  soul, 
Reproach  their  owner  with  that  love  of  rest, 
To  which  he  forfeits  e'en  the  rest  he  loves. 
Not  such  the  alert  and  active.     Measure  life 
By  its  true  worthy  the  comfort  it  affords, 
And  theirs  alone  seems  worthy  of  the  name. 
Good  health,  and,  its  associate  in  the  most, 
Good  temper  ;  spirits  prompt  to  undertake, 
And  not  soon  spent,  though  in  an  arduous  task  ; 
The  powers  of  fancy  and  strong  thought  are  theirs  > 
E'en  age  itself  seems  privileged  in  them 
With  clear  exemption  from  its  own  defects. 
A  sparkling  eye  beneath  a  wrinkled  front 
The  veteran  shows,  and  gracing  a  gray  beard 
With  youthful  smiles,  descends  toward  the  grave 
Sprightly  and  almost  without  decay. 

Like  a  coy  maiden,  Ease^  when  courted  most, 
Farthest  retires  —  an  idSITat  whose  shrine 
Who  oftenest  sacrifice  are  favoured  least. 
The  love  of  Nature,  and  the  scenes  she  draws 
Is  Nature's  dictate.     Strange  !  there  should  be  found 
Who,  self-imprisoned  in  their  proud  saloons, 
Renounce  the  odours  of  the  open  field 
For  the  unscerited  fictions  of  the  loom  : 
Who,  satisfied  with  only  pencilled  scenes 
Prefer  to  the  performance  of  a  God 
i^Th'  inferior  wonders  of  an  artist's  hand  ! 
LovelyondeecLthe  mimic^works  of  Art  ; 
But  Nature's  works  far  lovelier.     I  admire. 


/7V 
THE   TASK.  if 

None  more  admires,  the  painter's  magic  skill, 

Who  shows  me  that  which  I  shall  never  see, 

Conveys  a  distant  country  into  mine, 

And  throws  Italian  light  on  English  walls : 

But  imitative  strokes  can  do  no  more 

Than  please  the  eye — sweet  Nature's  every  sense 

The  air  salubrious  of  her  lofty  hills, 

The  cheering  fragrance  of  her  dewy  vales 

And  music  of  her  woods— no  works  of  man 

May  rival  these,  these  all  bespeak  a  power 

Peculiar,  and  exclusively  her  own. 

Beneath  the  open  sky  she  spreads  the  feast ; 

'Tis  free  to  all — 'tis  every  day  renewed  ; 

Who  scorns  it  starves  deservedly  at  home. 

He  does  not  scorn  it,  who,  imprisoned  long, 

In  some  unwholesome  dungeon,  and  a  prey 

To  sallow  sickness,  which  the  vapours,  dank 

And  clammy,  of  his  dark  abode  have  bred, 

Escapes  at  last  to  liberty  and  light : 

His  cheek  recovers  soon  its  healthful  hue ; 

His  eye.relumines  its  extinguished  fires  ; 

He  walks,  he  leaps,  he  runs — is  winged  with  joy. 

And  riots  in  the  sweets  of  every  breeze. 

He  does  not  scorn  it,  who  has  long  endured 

A  fever's  agonies,  and  fed  on  drug's. 

Nor  yet  the  mariner,  his  blood  inflamed 

With  acrid  salts  :  his  very  heart  athirst, 

To  gaze  at  Nature  in  her  green  array, 

Upon  the  ship's  tall  side  he  stands,  possessed 

With  visions  prompted  by  intense  desire  : 

Fair  fields  appear  below,  such  as  he  left 

Far  distant,  such  as  he  would  die  to  find — 

He  seeks  them  headlong,  and  is  seen  no  more. 

The  spleen  is  seldom  felt  where  Flora  reigns, 
The  lowering  eye,  the  petulance,  the  frown, 
And  sullen  sadness  that  o'ershade,  distort, 
And  mar  the  face  of  beauty,  when  no  cause 
For  such  immeasurable  wo  appears, 


178  THF    TASK. 

These  Flora  banishes,  and  gives  the  fair 

Sweet  smiles,  and  bloom  l*ss  transient  than  her  own* 

It  is  the  constant  revolution,  stale 

And  tasteless,  of  the  same  repeated  joys, 

That  palls  arid  satiates,  and  makes  languid  life 

A  podler's  pack,  that  bows  the  bearer  down. 

Health  suffers,  and- the  spirits  ebb,  the  heart 

Recoils  from  its  own  choice — at  the  full  feast 

Is  famished — finds  no  music  in  the  song, 

No  smartness  in  the  jest ;  and  wonders  why. 

Yet  thousands  still  desire  to  journey  on, 

Though  halt,  and  weary  of  the  path  they  tread. 

The  paralytic,  who  can  hold  her  cards, 

But  cannot  play  them,  borrows  a  friend's  hand 

To  deal  and  shuffle,  to  divide  and  sort 

Her  mingled  suits  and  sequences  ;  and  sits, 

Spectatress  both  and  spectacle,  a  sad 

And  silent  cipher,  while  her  proxy  plays. 

Others  are  dragged  into  the  crowded  room 

Between  supporters  ;  and,  once  seated,  sit, 

Through  downright  inability  to  rise, 

Till  the  stout  bearers  lift  the  corpse  again. 

These  speak  a  loud  memento.     Yet  e'en  these 

Themselves  love  life,  and  cling  to  it,  as  he, 

That  overhangs  a  torrent,  to  a  twig. 

They  love  it,  and  yet  loathe  it ;  \fear  to  die, 

Yet  scorn  the  purposes  for  which  they  live. 

Then  wherefore  not  renounce  them  ?  No — the  dread, 

The  slavish  dread  of  solitude,  that  breeds 

Reflection  and  remorse,  the  fear  of  shame, 

And  their  inveterate  habits,  ail  forbid. 

Whom  call  we  gay  ?   That  honour  has  been  long 
The  boast  of  mere  pretenders  to  the  name. 
The  innocent  are  gay,  the  lark  is  gay. 
That  dries  his  feathers,  saturate  with  due, 
Beneath  the  rosy  cloud,  while  yet  the  beams 
Of  dayspring  overshoot  his  humble  nest. 
The  peasant  too,  a  witness  of  his  song 


THE    TASK".  179 


Himself  a  songster,  is  as  gay  as  he. 
JBut  save  me  from  the  gayety  of  those, 
Whose  headaches  nail  them  to  a  noonday  bed ; 
And  save  me  too  from  theirs,  whose  haggard  eyes 
Flash  desperation  and  betray  their  pangs 
For  property  stripped  off  by  cruel  chance ; 
From  gayety,  that  fills  the  bones  with  pain, 
The  mouth  with  blasphemy,  the  heart  with  wo. 

The  earth  was  made  so  various,  that  the  mind 
Of  desultory  man,  studious  of  change, 
And  pleased  with  novelty,  might  be  indulged. 
Prospects,  however  lovely,  may  be  seen 
Till  half  their  beauties  fade  ;  the  weary  sight, 
Too  well  acquainted  with  their  smiles,  slides  off 
Fastidious,  seeking  less  familiar  scenes. 
Then  snug  enclosures  in  the  sheltered  vale, 
Where  frequent  hedges  intercept  the  eye, 
Delight  us  ;  happy  to  renounce  awhile, 
Not  senseless  of  its  charms,  what  still  we  love, 
That  such  short  absence  may  endear  it  more. 
Then  forests,  or  the  savage  rock,  may  please, 
That  hides  the  seamew  in  his  hollow  clefts 
Above  the  reach  of  man.     His  hoary  head, 
Conspicuous  many  a  league,  the  mariner 
Bound  homeward,  and  in  hope  already  there, 
Greets  with  three  cheers  exulting.     At  his  waist, 
A  girdle  of  half  withered  shrubs  he  shows, 
And  at  his  feet  the  baffled  billows  die. 
The  common,  overgrown  with  fern,  and  rough 
With  prickly  gorse,  that,  shapeless  and  deformed, 
And  dangerous  to  the  touch,  has  yet  its  bloom, 
And  decks  itself  with  ornaments  of  gold, 
Yields  no  unpleasing  ramble  ;  there  the  turf 
Smells  fresh,  and  rich  in  odoriferous  herbs, 
And  fungous  fruits  of  earth,  regales  the  sense 
With  luxury  of  unexpected  sweets. 

There  often  wander-s  one,  whom  better  days 
Saw  better  clad,  in  cloak  of  satin  trimmed 


180  THE    TASK. 

With  lace,  and  hat  with  splendid  riband  bound. 

A  servant  maid  was  she,  and  fell  in  love 

With  one  who  left  her,  went  to  sea,  and  died. 

Her  fancy  followed  him  through  foaming  waves 

To  distant  shores  ;  and  she  would  sit  and  weep 

At  what  a  sailor  suffers  ;  fancy  too, 

Delusive  most  where  warmest  wishes  are, 

Would  oft  anticipate  his  glad  return, 

And  dream  of  transports  she  was  not  to  know. 

She  heard  the  doleful  tidings  of  his  death — 

And  never  smiled  again  !  and  now  she  roams 

The  dreary  waste  ;  there  spends  the  livelong  day, 

And  there,  unless  when  charity  forbids, 

The  livelong  night.     A  tattered  apron  hides, 

Worn  as  a  cloak,  and  hardly  hides  a  gown 

More  tattered  still ;  and  both  but  ill  conceal 

A  bosom  heaved  with  never-ceasing  sighs. 

She  begs  an  idle  pin  of  all  she  meets, 

And  hoards  them  in  her  sleeve  ;  but  needful  food, 

Tho7  pressed  with  hunger  oft,  or  comelier  clothes, 

Tho'  pinched  with  cold  asks  never. — Kate  is  crazed. 

I  see  a  column  of  slow  rising  smoke 
(Tertop  the  lofty  wood  that  skirts  the  wild. 
A  vagabond  and  useless  tribe  there  eat 
Their  miserable  meal.     A  kettle  slung 
Between  two  poles  upon  a  stick  transverse, 
Receives  the  morsel — flesh  obscene  of  dog, 
Or  vermin,  or  at  best  of  cock  purloined 
From  his  accustomed  perch.     Hard  faring  race  ! 
They  pick  their  fuel  out  of  every  hedge, 
Which,  kindled  with  dry  leaves,  just  saves  unquenched 
The  spark  of  life.     The  sportive  wind  blows  wide 
Their  fluttering  rags,  and  shows  a  tawny  skin, 
The  vellum  of  the  pedigree  they  claim. 
Great  skill  have  they  in  palmistry,  and  more 
To  conjure  clean  away  the  gold  they  touch, 
Conveying  worthless  dross  into  its  place  ; 
Loud  when  they  beg,  dumb  only  when  they  steal. 


THE    TASK.  18) 

Strange  !  that  a  creature  rational,  and  cast 

In  human  mould,  should  brutalize  by  choice 

His  nature  ;  and  though  capable  of  arts, 

By  which  the  world  might  profit,  and  himself; 

Self-banished  from  society,  prefer 

Such  squallid  sloth  to  honourable  toil ! 

Yet  even  these,  though  feigning  sickness  oft, 

They  swathe  the  forehead,  drag  the  limping  limb, 

And  vex  their  flesh  with  artificial  sores, 

Can  change  their  whine  into  a  mirthful  note, 

When  safe  occasion  offers  ;  and  with  dance, 

And  music  of  the  bladder  and  the  bag, 

Beguile  their  woes,  and  make  the  woods  resound. 

Such  health  and  gayety  of  heart  enjoy 

The  houseless  rovers  of  the  sylvan  world  ; 

And,  breathing  wholesome  air,  and  wandering  much, 

Need  other  physic  none  to  heal  th'  effects 

Of  loathsome  diet,  penury  and  cold. 

Blest  he,  though  undistinguished  from  the  crowd 
By  wealth  or  dignity,  who  dwells  secure, 
Where  man,  by  nature  fierce,  has  laid  aside 
His  fierceness,  having  learnt,  though  slow  to  learn, 
The  manners  and  the  arts  of  civil  life. 
His  wants  indeed  are  many ;  but  supply 
Is  obvious,  placed  within  the  easy  reach 
Of  temperate  wishes  and  industrious  ha^as. 
Here  virtue  thrives  as  in  her  proper  soil ; 
Not  rude  and  surly,  and  beset  with  thorns, 
And  terrible  to  sight,  as  when  she  springs 
(If  e'er  she  springs  spontaneous)  in  remote 
And  barbarous  climes,  where  violence  prevails, 
And  strength  is  lord  of  all ;  but  gentle,  kind, 
By  culture  tamed,  by  liberty  refreshed, 
And  all  her  fruits  by  radiant  truth  matured. 
War  and  the  chase  engross  the  savage  whol^  : 
War  followed  for  revenge,  or  to  supplant 
The  envied  tenants  of  some  happier  spot- 
The  ch~»se  for  sustenance,  precarious  trust 

If) 


<82  THE    TASK. 

His  hard  condition  with  severe  constraint 

Binds  all  his  faculties,  forbids  all  growth 

Of  wisdom,  proves  a  school,  in  which  he  learns 

Sly  circumvention,  unrelenting  hate, 

Mean  self-attachment,  and  scarce  aught  beside. 

Thus  fare  the  shivering  natives  of  the  north, 

And  thus  the  rangers  of  the  western  world, 

Where  it  advances  far  into  the  deep, 

Towards  the  antarctic.     E'en  the  favoured  isles 

So  lately  found,  although  the  constant  sun 

Cheer  all  their  seasons  Vith  a  grateful  smile, 

Can  boast  but  little  virtue  ;  and  inert 

Through  plenty,  lose  in  morals  what  they  gain 

In  manners — victim^i)£  luxurious  ease. 

These  therefore  I  can  pity,  placed  remote 

Prom  all  that  science  traces,  art  invents, 

Or  inspiration  teaches  ;  and  enclosed 

In  boundless  oceans,  never  to  be  passed 

By  navigators  uninformed  as  they, 

Or  ploughed  perhaps  by  British  bark  again  : 

But  far  beyond  the  rest,  and  with  most  cause. 

Thee,  gentle  savage  !*  whom  no  love  of  thee 

Or  thine,  but  curiosity  perhaps, 

Or  else  vainglory,  prompted  us  to  draw 

Forth  from  thy  native  bowers  to  show  thee  here 

With  what  superior  skill  we  can  abuse 

The  gifts  of  Providence,  and  squander  life. 

The  dream  is  past ;  and  thou  hast  found  again 

Thy  cocoas  and  bananas,  palms  arid  yams, 

And  homestall  thatched  with  leaves.     But  hast  thou 

found 

Their  former  charms  ?  And  having  seen  our  state, 
Our  palaces,  our  ladies,  and  our  pomp 
Of  equipage,  our  gardens,  and  our  sports, 
And  heard  our  music  ;  are  thy  simple  friends, 
Thy  simple  fare,  and  all  thy  plain  delights, 
As  dear  to  thee  as  once  ?  and  have  thy  joys 

*Oa>ai. 


THE    TASK.  183 

Lost  nothing  by  comparison  with  ours  ?  ^^  ^ 

Rude  as  thou  art,  (for  we  returned  thee  rude 

And  ignorant,  except  of  outward  show) 

I  cannot  think  thee  yet  so  dull  of  heart 

And  spiritless,  as  never  to  regret 

Sweets  tasted  here,  and  left  as  soon  as  known. 

Methinks  I  see  thee  straying  on  the  beach, 

And  asking  of  the  surge  that  bathes  thy  foot, 

If  ever  it  has  washed  our  distant  shore. 

I  see  thee  weep,  and  thine  are  honest  tears, 

A  patriot's  for  his  country  :  thou  art  sad 

At  thought  of  her  forlorn  and  abject  state, 

From  which  no  power  of  thine  can  raise  her  up. 

Thus  Fancy  paints  thee,  and,  though  apt  to  err, 

Perhaps  errs  little,  when  she  paints  thee  thus. 

She  tells  me  too,  that  duly  every  morn 

Thou  climbest  the  mountain  top,  with  eager  eye 

Exploring  far  and  wide  the  watery  waste 

For  sight  of  ship  from  England.     Every  speck 

Seen  in  the  dim  horizon  turns  thee  pale 

With  conflict  of  contending  hopes  and  fears. 

But  comes  at  last  the  dull  and  dusky  eve, 

And  sends  thee  to  thy  cabin,  well  prepared 

To  dream  all  night  of  what  the  day  denied. 

Alas.!  expejctit  not     We  found  no  bait 

lojempt  us  in  thy  country.     Doing  good, 

Disiiiterested^good  is  not  our  trade. 

We  travel  far~'tis  true,  but  not  for  naught ;  ; 

And  must  be  bribed  to  compass  earth  again V 

By  other  hopes  and  richer  fruits  than  yoursJ 

But  though  true  worth  and  virtue  in  the  mild 
And  genial  soil  of  cultivated  life 
Thrive  most,  and  may  perhaps  thrive  only  there, 
Yet  not  in  cities  oft :  in  proud,  and  gay 
And  gain  devoted  cities.     Thither  flow, 
As  to  a  common  and  most  noisome  sewer, 
The  dregs  and  feculence  of  every  land. 
In  cities  foul  example  on  m^st  minds 


184  THE  TASK. 

Begets  its  likeness.     Rank  abundance  breeds,  , 

In  .gross  and  pampered  cities,  sloth  .and  lust, 

And  wantonness,  and  gluttonous  excess. 

In  cities  vice  is  hidden  with  most  ease, 

Or  seen  with  least  reproach  ;  and  virtue,  taught 

By  frequent  lapse,  can  hope  no  triumph  there 

Beyond  th'  achievements  of  successful  flight. 

I  do  confess  them  nurseries  of  the  arts, 

In  which  they  flourish  most ;  where,  in  the  beams 

Of  warm  encouragement,  and  in  the  eye 

Of  public  note,  they  reach  their  perfect  size. 

Such  London  is,  by  taste  and  wealth  proclaimed 

The  fairest  capital  of  all  the  world, 

By  riot  and  incontinence  the  worst. 

There,  touched  by  Reyiiolds,  a  dull  blank  becomes 

A  lucid  mirror,  in  which  Nature  sees 

All  her  reflected  features.     Bacon  there 

Gives  more  than  female  beauty  to  a  stone, 

And  Chatham's  eloquence  to  marble  lips 

Nor  does  the  chisel  occupy  alone 

The  powers  of  sculpture,  but  tlie  style  as  much, 

Each  province  of  her  art  her  equal  care. 

With  nice  incision  of  her  guided  steel 

She  ploughs  a  brazen  field,  and  clothes  a  soil 

So  steril  with  what  charms  soe'er  she  will, 

The  richest  scenery  and  the  loveliest  forms. ,  ,   ; 

Where  finds  Philosophy  her  eagle  eye, 


vv  nere  imus  rimosopiiy  iier  eagie  eye, 
With  which  she  gazes  at  yon  burning  disk  I  ^  ! 
Undazzled,  and  detects  and  counts  his  spots  ?  1 
In  London.     Where  her  implements  exact, 
With  which  she  calculates,  computes,  and  scans, 
All  distance,  motion,  magnitude,  and  now 
Measures  an  atom,  arid  now  girds  a  world  ? 
In  London.     Where  has  commerce  such  a  mart, 
So  rich,  so  thronged,  so  drained,  and  so  supplie 
As  London — opulent,  enlarged,  and  still 
Increasing  London  ?     Babylon  of  old 
Not  more  the  glory  of  the  earth  than  she, 


THE  TASK.  18£ 

A  more  accomplished  world's  chief  glory  now. 

She  has  her  praise.     Now  mark  a  spot  or  two, 
That  so  much  beauty  wouToTSb  well  to  purge  ; 
And  show  this  queen  of  cities,  that  so  fair 
May  yet  he  foul ;  so  witty,  yet  riot  wise. 
It  is  not  seemly,  nor  of  good  report, 
That  she  is  slack  in  discipline  ;  more  promp 
T'  avenge  than  to  prevent  the  breach  of  law 
That  she  is  rigid  in  denouncing  death 
On  petty  robbers,  and  indulges  life 
And  liberty,  and  ofttimes  honour  too, 
To  peculators  of  the  public  gold : 
That  thieves  at  home  must  hang ;  but  he  that  puts 
Into  his  overgorged  and  bloated  purse 
The  wealth  of  Indian  prev iifaes, ^escapes. 
Nor  is  it  well,  nor  can  it  come  to  gcfod, 
That,  through  profane  and  infidel  contempt 
Of  holy  writ,  she  has  presumed  t'  anntjl 
And  abrogate,  as  roundly  as  she  may,     -^ 
The  total  ordinance  and  will  of  God  ; 
Advancing  Fashion  to  the  post  of  Truth, 
And  centering  all  authority  in  modes 
And  customs  of  her  own  till  sabbath  rites 
Have  dwindled  into  unrespected  forms, 
And  knees  and  hassocks  are  well-nigh  divorced. 

God  made  the  countrj^yand  man  made  thejown. 

What.  wniiHftr.t.bpn..tEarhftalfh  qi3jgiltvip,  gifts 

That  can  alone  make  sweet  the  bitter  draught 
That  life  holds  out  to  all,  should  most  abound 
And  least  be  threatened  in  the  fields  and  groves? 
Possess  ye  therefore,  ye  who,  borne  about 
In  chariots  and  sedans,  know  no  fatigue 
But  that  of  idleness,  and  taste  no  scenes 
But  such  as  art  contrives,  possess  ye  still 
Your  element ;  there  only  can  ye  shine  ; 
There  only  minds  like  yours  can  do  no  harm. 
Our  groves  were  planted  to  console  at  noon 
The  pensive  wanderer  in  their  shades.     At  eve 
16* 


186  THE   TASK. 

The  moonbeam,  sliding  softly  in  between 
The  sleeping  leaves,  is  all  the  light  they  wish, 
Birds  warbling  all  the  music.     We  can  spare 
The  splendour  of  your  lamps  ;  they  but  eclipse 
Our  softer  satellite.     Your  songs  confound 
Our  more  harmonious  notes  ;  the  thrush  departs 
Scared,  and  the  offended  nightingale  is  mute. 
There  is  a  public  mischief  in  your  mirth  ; 
It  plagues  your  country.     Folly  such  as  yours, 
Graced  with  a  sword,  and  worthier  of  a  fan, 
Has  made,  what  enemies  could  ne'er  have  done, 
Our  arch  of  empire,  steadfast  but  for  you, 
A  mutilated  structure  soon  to  fall. 


E    TASK. 


THE    TIME-PIECE. 

ARGUMENT. 

REFLECTIONS  suggested  by  the  conclusion  of  the  former  book — Peace 
among  the  nations  recommended,  on  the  ground  of  their  common  fel- 
lowship in  sorrow. — Prodigies  enumerated.— Sicilian  Earthquakes.— Man 
rendered  obnoxious  to  these  calamities  by  sin. — God  the  agent  in  them. 
— The  philosophy  that  stops  at  secondary  causes  reproved. — Our  own 
late  miscarriages  accounted  for. — Satirical  notice  taken  of  our  trips  to 
Fontainbleau. — But  the  pulpit,  not  satire,  the  proper  engine  of  refor- 
mation.— The  Reverend  Advertiser  of  engraved  sermons. — Petit-maitre 
parson. — The  good  preacher. — Picture  of  a  theatrical  clerical  coxcomb. 
— Story-tellers  and  jesters  in  the  pulpit  reproved.— Apostrophe  to  pop- 
ular applause. — Retailers  of  ancient  philosophy  expostulated  with.— 
Sum  of  the  whole  matter. — Effects  of  sacerdotal  mismanagement  on 
the  laity. — Their  folly  and  extravagance.— The  mischiefs  of  profusion.— 
Profusion  itself,  with  all  its  consequent  evils,  ascribed,  as  to  its  principal 
cause,  to  the  want  of  discipline  in  the  universities. 

O  FOR  a  lodge  in  some  vast  wilderness, 
Some  boundless  contiguity  of  shade,  > 

Where  rumour  of  oppression  and  deceit,  / 
Of  unsuccessful  or  successful  war, 
Might  never  reach  me  more.     My  ear  is  pained, 
My  soul  is  sick  with  every  day's  report 


THE   TASK.  187 

Of  wrong  and  outrage  with  which  earth  is  filled. 
There  is  no  flesh  in  man's  obdu-rate  heart, 
It  does  not  feel  for  man  ;  the  natural  bond 
Of  brotherhood  is  severed  as  the  flax, 
That  falls  asunder  at  the  touch  of  fire. 
He  finds  his  fellow  guilty  of  a  skin 
Not  coloured  like  his  own ;  and  having  power 
T'  enforce  the  wrong,  for  such  a  worthy  cause 
Dooms  and  devotes  him  as  his  lawful  prey. 
Lands  intersected  by  a  narrow  frith 
Abhor  each  other.     Mountains  interposed 
Make  enemies  of  nations,  who  had  else 
Like  kindred  drops  been  mingled  into  one. 
Thus  man  devotes  his  brother,  and  destroys ; 
And,  worse  than  all,  and  most  to  be  deplored 
As  human  natures'  broadest,  foulest  blot, 
Chains  him,  and  tasks  him,  and  exacts  his  sweat 
With  stripes,  that  mercy  with  a  bleeding  heart 
Weeps  when  she  sees  inflicted  on  a  beast. 
Then  what  is  man  ?     And  what  man,  seeing  this, 
And  having-  human  feelings,  does  not  blush, 
And  hang  his  head,  to  think  himself  a  man  ? 
I  would  not  have  a  slave  to  till  my  ground, 
To  carry  me,  to  fan  me  while  I  sleep, 
And  tremble  when  I  wake,  for  all  the  wealth 
That  sinews  bought  and  sold  have  ever  earned, 
No  :  dear  as  freedom  is,  and  in  my  heart's 
Just  estimation  prized  above  all  prize, 
I  had  much  rather  be  myself  the  slave, 
And  wear  the  bonds,  than  fasten  them  on  him. 
We  have  no  slaves  at  home — then  why  abroad  ? 
And  they  themselves  once  ferried  o'er  the  wave 
That  parts  us,  are  emancipate  and  loosed. 
Slaves  cannot  breathe  in  England  :  if  their  lungs 
Receive  our  air,  that  moment  they  are  free ; 
They  touch  our  country,  and  their  shackles  fall. 
That's  noble,  and  bespeaks  a  nation  proud 
And  jealous  of  the  blessing.     Spread  it  then 


188  THE  TASK. 

And  let  it  circulate  through  every  vein 

Of  all  your  empire  ;  that,  where  Briton's  power 

Is  felt,  mankind  may  feel  her  mercy  too. 

Sure  there  is  need  of  social  intercourse, 
Benevolence,  and  peace,  and  mutual  aid, 
Between  the  nations  in  a  world,  that  seems 
To  toll  the  death  bell  of  its  own  decease, 
And  by  the  voice  of  all  its  elements 
To  preach  the  general  doom.*     \^hen  were   the 

winds 

Let  slip  with  such  a  warrant  to  destroy  ? 
When  did  the  waves  so  haughtily  overleap 
Their  ancient  barriers,  deluging  the  dry  ? 
Fires  from  beneath,  and  meteorst  from  above, 
Portentous,  unexampled,  unexplained, 
Have  kindled  beacons  in  the  skies ;  and  th'  old 
And  crazy  earth  has  had  her  shaking  fits 
More  frequent,  and  foregone  her  usual  rest. 
It  is  a  time  to  wrangle,  when  the  props 
And  pillars  of  our  planet  seem  to  fail, 
And  Nature!  with  a  dim  and  sickly  eye 
To  wait  the  close  of  all  ?     But  grant  her  end 
More  distant,  and  that  prophecy  demands 
A  longer  respite,  unaccomplished  yet ; 
Still  they  are  frowning  signals,  and  bespeak 
Displeasure  in  his  breast,  who  smites  the  earth 
Or  heals  it,  makes  it  languish  or  rejoice. 
And  'tis  but  seemly,  that,  where  all  deserve     •  ..  A  && 
And  stand  exposed  by  common  peccancy,  - 
To  what  no  few  have  felt,  there  should  be  peace, 
And  brethren  in  calamity  should  love. 

Alas  for  Sicily  !  rude  fragments  now 
Lie  scattered,  where  the  shapely  column  stood. 
Her  palaces  are  dust.     In  all  her  streets 
The  voice  of  singing  and  the  sprightly  chord 

*  Alluding  to  the  calamities  in  Jamaica. 
t  August,  18,  1783. 

t  Alluding  to  the  fog  that  covered  both  Europe  and  Asia  during  th« 
whole  summer  of  1783. 


THE   TASK".  J*3Q 

Are  silent.     Revelry,  and  dance,  and  show, 

Suffer  a  .syncope  and  a  solemn  pause  ; 

While  God  performs  upon  the  trembling  stage 

Of  his  own  works  his  dreadful  part  alone. 

How  does  the  earth  receive  him  ? — with  what  signs 

Of  gratulation  arid  delight  her  king  ? 

Pours  she  not  all  her  choicest  fruits  abroad, 

Her  sweetest  flowers,  her  aromatic  gums, 

Disclosing  Paradise  where'er  he  treads  ? 

She  quakejLflt  his  approach.     Her  hollow  womb, 

Conceiving  thunders,  through  a  thousand  deeps 

And  fiery  caverns,  roars  beneath  his  foot. 

The  hills  move  lightly,  and  the  mountains  smoke, 

For   he   has  touched  them.     From  the  extremest 

point 

Of  elevation  down  into  the  abyss 
IJis^wrath  js_husyr  and  his  frown  is  felt. 
TheTrocEs  fall  headlong,  and  the  valleys  rise, 
The  rivers  die  into  offensive  pools, 
And  charged  with  putrid  verdure,  breathe  a  gross 
And  mortal  nuisance  into  all  the  air. 
What  solid  was,  by  transformation  strange, 
Grows  fluid ;  and  the  fixed  and  rooted  earth, 
Tormented  into  billows,  heaves  and  swells, 
Or  with  vertiginous  and  hideous  whirl 
Sucks  down  its  prey  insatiable.     Immense 
The  tumult  and  the  overthrow,  the  pangs 
And  agonies  of  human  and  of  brute 
Multitudes,  fugitive  on  every  side, 
And  fugitive  in  vain.     The  sylvan  scene 
Migrates  uplifted  :  and,  with  all  its  soil 
Alighting  in  far  distant  fields,  finds  out 
A  new  possessor,  and  survives  the  change. 
Ocean  has  caught  the  frenzy,  and,  upwrought 
To  an  enormous  and  overbearing  height. 
Not  by  a  mighty  wind,  but  by  that  voice, 
Which  winds  and  waves  obey,  invades  the  shore 
Resistless.     Never  such  a  sudden  flood, 


190  THE  TASK. 

Upridged  so  high,  and  sent  on  such  a  charge, 
Possessed  an  inland  scene.     Where  now  the  throng, 
That  pressed  the  beach,  and,  hasty  to  depart, 
Looked  to  the  sea  for  safety?     They  are  gone, 
Gone  with  the  refluent  wave  into  the  deep — 
A  prince  with  half  his  people  !     Ancient  towers, 
And  roofs  embattled  high,  the  gloomy  scenes, 
Where  beauty  oft  and  lettered  worth  consume 
Life  in  the  unproductive  shades  of  death, 
Fall  prone  :  the  pale  inhabitants  come  forth, 
And,  happy  in  their  unforeseen  release 
From  all  the  rigours  of  restraint,  enjoy 
The  terrors  of  the  day,  that  sets  them  free. 
Who  then,  that  has  thee,  would  not  hold  thee  fast, 
Freedom  ?  whom  they  that  lose  thee  so  regret, 
That  e'en  a  judgment,  making  way  for  thee, 
Seems  in  their  eyes  a  mercy  for  thy  sake. 

jiueh-evils  Sin  hath  wrought ;  and  such  a  flame 
Kindled  in  Heaven,  that  it  burns  down  to  Earth, 
And  in  the  furious  inquest  that  it  makes 
Qn  God's,  behalf  lays  waste,  his  fairest  works. 
The  very  elements,  though  each  be  meant 
The  minister  of  man,  to  serve  his  wants, 
Conspire  against  him.     With  his  breath  he  draws 
A  plague  into  his  blood  ;  and  cannot  use 
Life's  necessary  means,  but  he  must  die. 
Storms  rise  t'  o'er  whelm  him:  or,  if  stormy  winds 
Rise  not,  the  waters  of  the  deep  shall  rise, 
And,  needing  none  assistance  of  the  storm, 
Shall  roll  themselves  ashore,  and  reach  him  there. 
The  earth  shall  shake  him  out  of  all  his  holds, 
Or  make  his  house  his  grave  ;  nor  so  content, 
Shall  counterfeit  the  motions  of  the  flood, 
And  drown  him  in  her  dry  and  dusty  gulfs. 
What  then  ! — were  they  the  wicked  above  all, 
And  we  the  righteous,  whose  fast  anchored  isle 
Moved  not,  while  theirs  was  rocked,  like  a  light  skill 
The  sport  of  every  wave  ?     No  :  none  are  clear, 


THE  TASK.  19J 

But,  where  all 


. 

Stand  cKargeable  with  guilt,  and  to  the  shafts 
Of  wrath  obnoxious,  Gedjnay  choose  his  mark : 
May  punish^  if  he  please,  the  less:  to  warn 
The  more~maliffliant.     If  he  spared  not  them, 
^Tremble  a~nd  be  amazed  at  thine  escape, 
Far  guiltier  England,  lest  he  spare  riot  thee  ? 
Happy  the  man,  who  sees  a  God  employed 
In  all  the  good  and  ill  that  checker  life  ! 
Resolving  all  events,  with  their  effects 
And  manifold  results,  into  the  will 
And  arbitration  wise  of  the  Supreme. 
Did  not  his  eye  rule  all  things,  and  intend 
The  least  of  our  concerns  (since  from  the  least 
The  greatest  oft  originate  ;)  could  chance 
Find  place  in  his  dominion,  or  dispose 
One  lawless  particle  to  thwart  his  plan  ; 
Then  God  might  be  surprised,  and  unforeseen 
Contingence  might  alarm  him,  and  disturb 
The  smooth  and  equal  course  of  his  affairs. 
This  truth  Philosophy,  though  eagle-eyed 
In  nature's  tendencies,  oft  overlooks  ; 
And,  having  found  his  instrument,  forgets, 
Or  disregards,  or,  more  presumptuous  stili, 
Denies  the  power  that  wields  it.     God  proclaims 
His  hot  displeasure  against  foolish  men, 
That  live  an  atheist  life  :  involves  the  Heaven 
In  tempests  ;  quits  his  grasp  upon  the  winds, 
And  gives  them  all  their  fury  ;  bids  a  plague 
Kindle  a  fiery  bile  upon  the  skin, 
Arid  putrefy  the  breath  of  blooming  Health. 
He  calls  for  Famine,  and  the  rneager  fiend 
Blows  mildew  from  between  his  shrivelled  lips, 
And  taints  the  golden  ear.     He  springs  his  mines, 
And  desolates  a  nation  at  a  blast. 
Forth  steps  the  spruce  philosopher,  and  tells 
Of  homogeneal  and  discordant  springs 
And  principles ;  of  causes,  how  they  work 


[92  THE  TASK. 

By  necessary  laws  their  sure  effects  ; 

Of  action  and  re-action  :  he  has  found 

The  source  of  the  disease,  that  nature  feels, 

And  bids  the  world  take  heart  and  banish  fear. 

Thou  fool !  will  thy  discovery  of  the  cause 

Suspend  th'  effect,  or  heal  it  ?    Has  not  God 

Still   wrought  by  means   since  first  he  made  the 

world '} 

And  did  he  not  of  old  employ  his  means 
To  drown  it  ?     What  is  his  creation  less 
Than  a  capacious  reservoir  of  means 
Formed  for  his  use,  and  ready  at  his  will  ? 
Go,  dress  thine  eye  with  eye-salve  ;  ask  of  him, 
Or  ask  of  whomsoever  he  has  taught ; 
VAnd  learn,  though  late,  the  genuine  cause  of  all. 
England^with-att  thy  faults  I  love  thee .still— 
3Iy  country !  and  while  yet  a  nook  is  left, 
Where  English  minds  and  manners  may  be  found, 
Shall  be  constrained  to  love  thee.     Though  thy  clime 
Be  fickle,  and  thy  year  most  part  deformed 
With  dripping  rains,  or  withered  by  a  frost, 
I  would  not  yet  exchange  thy  sullen  skies, 
And  fields  without  a  flower,  for  warmer  France 
With  all  her  vines ;  nor  for  Ausonia's  groves 
Of  golden  fruitage,  and  her  myrtle  bowers. 
To  shake  thy  senate,  and  from  heights  sublime 
Of  patriot  eloquence  to  flash  down  fire 
Upon  thy  foes,  was  never  meant  my  task : 
But  I  can  feel  thy  fortunes,  and  partake 
Thy  joys  and  sorrows,  with  as  true  a  heart 
As  any  thunderer  there.     And  1  can  feel 
Thy  follies  too  ;  and  with  a  just  disdain, 
Frown  at  effeminates,  whose  very  looks 
Reflect  dishonour  on  the  land  I  love. 
How,  in  the  name  of  soldiership  and  sens«, 
Should  England  prosper,  when  such  things,  as  smootn 
And  tender  as  a  girl,  all  essenced  o'er 
With  odours,  and  as  profligate  as  sweet  • 


THE  TASK.  393 

Who  sell  their  laurel  for  a  myrtle  wreath, 

And  love  when  they  should  fight;  when  such  as  these 

Presume  to  lay  their  hands  upon  the  ark  !  *^s> 

Of  her  magnificent  and  awful  cause  ? 

Time  was  when  it  was  praise  and  boast  enough 

In  every  clime,  and  travel  where  we  might, 

That  we  were  born  her  children.     Praise  enough 

To  fill  th'  ambition  of  a  private  man, 

That  Chatham's  language  was  his  mother  tongue, 

And  Wolfe's  great  name  compatriot  with  his  own. 

Farewell  those  honours,  and  farewell  with  them 

The  hope  of  such  hereafter  !     They  have  fallen 

Each  in  his  field  of  glory ;  one  in  arms, 

And  one  in  council — Wolfe  upon  the  lap 

Of  smiling  Victory  that  moment  won, 

And  Chatham  heart-sick  of  his  country's  shame ! 

They  made  us  many  soldiers.     Chatham,  still 

Consulting  England's  happiness  at  home, 

Secured  if  by  an  unforgiving  frown, 

If  any  wronged  her.     Wolfe,  where'er  he  fought, 

Put  so  much  of  his  heart  into  his  act, 

That  his  example  had  a  magnet's  force, 

And  all  were  swift  to  follow  whom  all  loved. 

Those  suns  are  set.     O  rise  some  other  such  ! 

Or  all  that  we  have  left  is  empty  talk 

Of  old  achievements,  and  despair  of  new. 

Now  hoist  the  sail,  and  let  the  streamers  float 
Upon  the  wanto*n  breezes.     Strew  the  deck 
With  lavender,  and  sprinkle  liquid  sweets, 
That  no  rude  savour  maritime  invade 
The  nose  of  nice  nobility !     Breathe  soft 
Ye  clarionets,  and  softer  still  ye  flutes ; 
That  winds  and  waters,  lulled  by  magic  sounds, 
May  bear  us  smoothly  to  the  Gallic  shore  ! 
True  ;  we  have  lost  an  empire — let  it  pass. 
True ;  we  may  thank  the  perfidy  of  France, 
That  picked  the  jewel  out  of  England's  crown, 
With  all  the  cunning  of  an  envious  shrew. 

17 


194  THE  TASK. 

And  let  that  pass — 'twas  but  a  trick  of  state 

A  brave  man  knows  no  malice,  but  at  once 

Forgets  in  peace  the  injuries  of  war, 

And  gives  his  direst  foe  a  friend's  embrace. 

And,  shamed  as  we  have  been,  to  th'  very  beard 

Braved  and  defied,  and  in  our  own  sea  proved 

Too  weak  for  those  decisive  blows  that  once 

Ensured  us  mastery  there,  we  yet  retain 

Some  small  pre-eminence  ;  we  justly  boast 

At  least  superior  jockeyship,  and  claim 

The  honours  of  the  turf  as  all  our  own  ! 

Go  then,  well  worthy  of  the  praise  ye  seek, 

And  show  the  shame,  ye  might  conceal  at  home, 

In  foreign  eyes  ! — Be  grooms  and  win  the  plate, 

Where  once  your  noble  fathers  won  a  crown  !  — 

'Tis  generous  to  communicate  your  skill 

To  those  that  need  it.     Folly  is  soon  learned : 

And  under  such  preceptors  \v  ho  can  fail !  J 

v     There  is  a  pleasure  in  poetic  pains, 

Which  only  poets  know.     The  shifts  and  turns, 

Th'  expedients  and  inventions  multiform, 

To  which  the  mind  resorts,  in  chase  of  terms 

Though  apt,  yet  coy,  and  difficult  to  win — 

T'  arrest  the  fleeting  images,  that  fill 

The  mirror  of  the  mind,  and  hold  them  fast, 

And  force  them  sit  till  he  has  pencilled  off 

A  faithful  likeness  of  the  forms  he  views  ; 

Then  to  dispose  his  copies  with  such  art, 

That  each  may  find  its  most  propitious  light, 

And  shine  by  situation,  hardly  less 

Than  by  the  labour  and  the  skill  it  cost ; 

Are  occupations  of  the  poet's  mind 

So  pleasing,  and  that  steal  away  the  thought 

With  such  address  from  themes  of  sad  import, 

That,  lost  in  his  own  musings,  happy  man  ! 

He  feels  th'  anxieties  of  life,  denied 

Their  wonted  entertainment,  all  retire. 

Such  joys  has  he  that  sings.     But  ah  !  not  such, 


1'HE   TASK.  195 

Or  seldom  such,  the  hearers  of  his  song. 

Fastidious,  or  else  listless,  or  perhaps 

Aware  of  nothing  arduous  in  a  task 

They  never  undertook,  they  little  note 

His  dangers  or  escapes,  and  haply  find 

Their  least  amusement  where  he  found  the  most. 

But  is  amusement  all  ?     Studious  of  song, 

And  yet  ambitious  not  to  sing  in  vain, 

I  would  not  trifle  merely,  though  the  world 

Be  loudest  in  their  praise,  who  do  no  more. 

Yet  what  can  satire,  whether  grave  or  gay  ? 

It  may  correct  a  foible,  may  chastise 

The  freaks  of  fashion,  regulate  the  daess, 

Retrench  a  sword-blade,  or  displace  a  patch ; 

But  where  are  its  sublimer  trophies  found  ? 

What  vice  has  it  subdued  ?  whose  heart  reclaimed 

By  rigour,  or  whom  laughed  into  reform  ? 

Alas  !  Leviathan  is  not  so  tamed ; 

Laughed  at,  he  laughs  again  ;  and  stricken  hard, 

Turns  to  his  stroke  his  adamantine  scales, 

. — Jhat  fear  no  discipline  of  human  hands. . 

The  pulpit,  therefore,  (and  I  name  it  filled 
With  solemn  awe,  that  bids  me  well  beware 
With  what  intent  I  touch  that  holy  thing) — 
The  pulpit  (when  the  satirist  has  at  last, 
Strutting  and  vapouring  in  an  empty  school, 
Spent  all  his  force  and  made  no  proselyte) — 
I  say  the  pulpit  (in  the  sober  use 
Of  its  legitimate,  peculiar  powers) 
Must  stand  acknowledged,  while  the  world  shall 

stand, 

The  most  important  and  effectual  guard, 
Support,  and  ornament  of  Virtue's  cause. 
There  stands  the  messenger  of  truth  :  there  stands 
The  legate  of  the  skies  ! — His  theme  divine, 
His  office  sacred,  his  credentials  clear. 
By  him  the  violated  law  speaks  out 
Its  thunders  ;  and  by  him  in  strains  as  sweet 


196  THE   TASK. 

As  angels  use,  the  Gospel  whispers  peace. 
He  establishes  the  strong,  restores  the  weak, 
Reclaims  the  wanderer,  binds  the  broken  heart, 
And,  armed  himself  in  panoply  complete 
Of  heavenly  temper,  furnishes  with  arms 
Bright  as  his  own,  and  trains,  by  every  rule 
Of  holy  discipline,  to  glorious  war, 
The  sacramental  host  of  God's  elect ! 
Are  all  such  teachers  ? — would  to  Heaven  all  were ! 
But  hark — the  doctor's  voice  ! — fast  wedged  between 
Two  empirics  he  stands,  and  with  swoln  cheeks 
Inspires  the  news,  his  trumpet.     Keener  far 
Than  all  invective  is  his  bold  harangue. 
While  through  that  public  organ  of  report 
He  hails  the  clergy  ;  and,  defying  shame, 
Announces  to  the  world  his  own  and  theirs  ! 
He  teaches  those  to  read,  whom  schools  dismissed, 
And  colleges,  untaught ;  sells  accent,  tone, 
And  emphasis  in  score,  and  gives  to  prayer 
The  adagio  and  andante  it  demands. 
He  grinds  divinity  of  other  days 
Down  into  modern  use ;  tranforms  old  print 
To  zigzag  manuscript,  and  cheats  the  eyes 
Of  gallery  critics  by  a  thousand  arts. 
Are  there  who  purchase  of  the  doctor's  waie  ? 
O,  name  it  not  in  Gath  ! — it  cannot  be, 
That  grave  and  learned  clerks  should  need  such  aid. 
He  doubtless  is  in  sport,  and  does  but  droll, 
Assuming  thus  a  rank  unknown  before — 
Grand  caterer  and  dry-nurse  of  the  church  ! 
~1  venerate  the  man  whose  heart  is  warm, 
Whose  hands  are  pure,  whose  doctrine  and  whose  lif  5, 
-  Coincident,  exhibit  lucid  proof 
That  he  is  honest  in  the  sacred  cause, 
To  such  I  render  more  than  mere  respect, 
Whose  actions  say,  that  they  respect  themselves. 
But  loose  in  morals,  and  in  manners  vain, 
In  conversation  frivolous,  in  dress 


THE  TASK.  107 

Extreme,  at  once  rapacious  and  profuse ; 

Frequent  in  park  with  lady  at  his  side, 

Ambling  and  prattling  scandal  as  he  goes, 

But  rare  at  home,  and  never  at  his  books, — 

Or  with  his  pen,  save  when  he  scrawls  a  card ; 

Constant  at  routs,  familiar  with  a  round 

Of  ladyships,  a  stranger  to  the  poor ; 

Ambitious  of  preferment  for  its  gold, 

And  well-prepared,  by  ignorance  and  sloth, 

By  infidelity  and  love  of  world, 

To  make  God's  work  a  sinecure  ;  a  slave 

To  his  own  pleasures  and  his  patron's  pride ; 

From  such  apostles,  O  ye  mitred  heads, 

Preserve  the  church  !  and  lay  not  careless  hands 

On  sculls,  that  cannot  teach,  and  will  not  learn. 

Would  I  describe  a  preacher,  such  as  Paul, 
Were  he  on  earth,  would  hear,  approve,  and  own. 
Paul  should  himself  direct  me.     I  would  trace 
His  master-strokes,  and  draw  from  his  design, 
I  would  express  him  simple,  grave,  sincere  ; 
In  doctrine  uncorrupt ;  in  language  plain, 
And  plain  in  manner ;  decent,  solemn,  chaste, 
And  natural  in  gesture  ;  much  impressed 
Himself,  as  conscious  of  his  awful  charge, 
And  anxious  mainly  that  the  flock  he  feeds 
May  feel  it  too  ;  affectionate  in  look, 
And  tender  in  address,  as  well  becomes 
A  messenger  of  grace  to  guilty  men. 
Behold  the  picture  ! — Is  it  like  ? — Like  whom? 
The  things  that  mount  the  rostrum  with  a  skip, 
And  then  skip  down  again  ;  pronounce  a  text ; 
Cry — hem ;  and  reading  what  they  never  wrote, 
Just  fifteen  minutes,  huddle  up  their  work, 
And  with  a  well-bred  whisper  close  the  scene ! 

In  man  or  woman,  but  far  most  in  man, 
And  most  of  all  in  man  that  ministers 
And  serves  the  altar,  in  my  soul  I  loathe 
17* 


198  THi^    TASK. 

All  affectation.     'Tis  my  perfect  scorn ; 
Object  of  my  implacable  disgust. 
What ! — will  a  man  play  tricks,  will  he  indulge 
A  silly  fond  conceit  of  his  fair  form, 
And  just  proportion,  fashionable  mien, 
And  pretty  face,  in  presence  of  his  God  ? 
Or  will  he  seek  to  dazzle  me  with  tropes, 
As  with  the  diamond  on  his  lily  hand, 
And  play  his  brilliant  parts  before  my  eyes, 
When  I  am  hungry  for  the  bread  of  life  ? 
He  mocks  his  Maker,  prostitutes  and  shames 
His  noble  .office,  and,  instead  of  truth, 
Displaying  his  own  beauty,  starves  his  flock. 
Therefore  avaunt  all  attitude,  and  stare, 
And  start  theatric,  practised  at  the  glass  ! 
I  seek  divine  simplicity  in  him, 
Who  handles  things  divine  ;  and  all  besides, 
Though  learned  with  labour,  and  though  much  ad- 
mired 

By  curious  eyes  and  judgments  ill-informed, 
To  me  is  odious  as  the  nasal  twang 
Heard  at  conventicle,  where  worthy  men, 
Misled  by  custom,  strain  celestial  themes 
Through  the  pressed  nostril,  spectacle  bestrid, 
Some  decent  in  demeanour  while  they  preach, 
That  task  performed,  relapse  into  themselves  : 
And  having  spoken  wisely,  at  the  close 
Grow  wanton,  and  give  proof  to  every  eye, 
Whoe'er  was  edified,  themselves  were  not ! 
Forth  *  comes  the  pocket  mirror — First  we  stroke 
An  eyebrow  ;  next  compose  a  straggling  lock ; 
Then  with  an  air  most  gracefully  performed, 
Fall  back  into  our  seat,  extend  an  arm, 
And  lay  it  at  its  ease  with  gentle  care, 
With  handkerchief  in  hand  depending  low  : 
The  better  hand  more  busy  gives  the  nose 
Its  bergamot,  or  aids  the  indebted  eye 


THE   TASK.  1< 

With  opera  glass,  to  watch  the  moving  scene, 

Arid  recognise  the  slow-retiring  fair. — 

Now  this  is  fulsome,  and  offends  me  more 

That  in  a  churchman  slovenly  neglect 

And  rustic  coarseness  would.     A  heavenly  mind 

May  be  indifferent  to  her  house  of  clay, 

And  slight  the  hovel  as  beneath  her  care ; 

But  how  a  body  so  fantastic,  trim, 

And  quaint,  in  its  deportment  and  attire, 

Can  lodge  a  heavenly  mind — demands  a  doubt 

He,  that  negotiates  between  God  and  man, 
As  God's  ambassador,  the  grand  concerns 
Of  judgment  and  of  mercy,  should  beware 
Of  lightness  in  his  speech.     'Tis  pitiful 
To  court  a  grin,  when  you  should  woo  a  soul ; 
To  break  a  jest,  when  pity  would  inspire 
Pathetic  exhortation  ;  and  t'  address     . 
The  skittish  fancy  with  facetious  tales, 
When  sent  with  God's  commission  to  the  heart : 
So  did  riot  Paul.     Direct  me  to  a  quip 
Or  merry  turn  in  all  he  ever  wrote, 
And  I  consent  you  take  it  for  your  text, 
Your  only  one,  till  sides  and  benches  fail. 
No  :  he  was  serious  in  a  serious  cause, 
And  understood  too  well  the  weighty  terms, 
That  he  had  taken  in  charge.     He  would  not  stoop 
To  conquer  those  by  jocular  exploits, 
Whom  truth  and  soberness  assailed  in  vain. 
O  Popular  Applause  !  what  heart  of  man 
Is  proof  against  thy  sweet  seducing  charni5  ? 
The  wisest  and  the  best  feel  urgent  need 
Of  all  their  caution  in  thy  gentlest  gales ; 
But  swelled  into  a  gust — Who  then,  alas  ! 
With  all  his  canvass  set,  and  inexpert, 
And  therefore  heedless,  can  withstand  n»v  .  ower  ) 
Praise  from  the  ri  veiled  lips  of  tooth  less,  Nild 
Decrepitude,  and  in  the  looks  of  loan 
And  craving  Poverty,  and  in  the  bow 


&0  THE    1  »SK. 

B  '<?pectful  of  the  smutched  artificer, 
Is  oft  too  welcome,  and  may  much  distml. 
The  bias  of  the  purpose.     How  much  more; 
Poured  forth  by  beauty  splendid  and  polite, 
In  language  soft  as  Adoration  breathes  1 
Ah  spare  your  idol  !  think  him  human  still. 
Charms  he  may  have,  but  he  has  frailties  too ! 
Dote  not  too  much,  nor  spoil  what  ye  admire. 

All  truth  is  from  the  sempiternal  source 
Of  light  divine.     But  Egypt,  Greece  and  Rome, 
Drew  from  the  stream  below.     More  favoured  we 
Drink,  when  we  choose  it,  at  the  fountain  head. 
To  them  it  flowed  much  mingled  and  defiled 
With  hurtful  error,  prejudice  and  dreams 
Illusive  of  philosophy,  so  called, 
But  falsely.     Sages  after  sages  strove 
In  vain  to  filter  off  a  crystal  draught 
Pure  from  the  lees,  which  often  more  enhanced 
The  thirst  than  slaked  it,  and  not  seldom  bred 
Intoxication  and  delirium  wild. 
In  vain  they  pushed  inquiry  to  the  birth 
And  spring  time  of  the  world ;  asked,  Whence  is  man? 
Why  formed  at  all  ?  and  wherefore  as  he  is  ? 
Where  must  he  find  his  Maker  ?  with  what  rites 
Adore  him  ?  Will  he  hear,  accept,  and  bless  ? 
Or  does  he  sit  regardless  of  his  works  ? 
Has  man  within  him  an  immortal  seed  ? 
Or  does  the  tomb  take  all  ?  If  he  survive 
His  ashes,  where  ?  and  in  what  weal  or  wo  ? 
Knots  worthy  of  solution,  which  alone 
A  deity  could  solve.     Their  answers,  vague 
And  all  at  random,  fabulous  and  dark, 
Left  them  as  dark  themselves.     Their  rules  of  life, 
Defective  and  unsanctioned,  prove  too  weak 
To  bind  the  roving  appetite,  arid  lead 
Blind  nature  to  a  God  not  yet  revealed. 
'Tis  revelation  satisfies  all  doubts, 
Explains  all  mysteries,  except  her  own, 


THE   TASK.  801 

And  so  illuminates  the  path  of  life, 

That  fools  discover  it,  and  stray  no  more. 

Now  tell  me,  dignified  and  sapient  sir, 

My  man  of  morals,  nurtured  in  the  shades 

Of  Academus — is  this  false  or  true  ? 

Is  Christ  the  abler  teacher,  or  the  schools  ? 

If  Christ,  then  why  resort  at  every  turn 

To  Athens  or  to  Rome,  for  wisdom  short 

Of  man's  occasions,  when  in  him  reside 

Grace,  knowledge,  comfort — an  unfathomed  store? 

How  oft,  when  Paul  has  served  us  with  a  text, 

Has  Epictetus,  Plato,  Tully,  preached  ! 

Men  that,  if  now  alive,  would  sit  content 

And  humble  learners  of  a  Saviour's  worth, 

Preach  it  who  might.     Such  was  their  love  of  truth. 

Their  thirst  of  knowledge,  and  their  candour  too  ! 

And  thus  it  is — The  pastor,  either  vain 
By  nature,  or  by  flattery  made  so,  taught 
To  gaze  at  his  own  splendour,  and  t'  exalt 
Absurdly,  not  his  office,  but  himself; 
Or  unenlightened,  and  too  proud  to  .learn  ; 
Or  vicious,  and  not  therefore  apt  to  teach  ; 
Perverting  often  by  the  stress  of  lewd 
And  loose  example,  whom  he  should  instruct ; 
Exposes,  and  holds  up  to  broad  disgrace 
The  noblest  function,  and  discredits  much 
The  brightest  truths  that  man  has  ever  seen. 
For  ghostly  counsel ;  if  it  either  fall 
Below  the  exigence,  or  be  not  backed 
With  show  of  love,  at  least  with  hopeful  proof 
Of  some  sincerity  on  the  giver's  part ; 
Or  be  dishonoured  in  th'  exterior  form 
And  mode  of  its  conveyance  by  such  tricks 
As  move  derision,  or  by  foppish  airs 
And  histrionic  mummery,  that  let  down 
The  pulpit  to  the  level  of  the  stage  ; 
Drops  from  the  lips  a  disregarded  thing. 
The  weak  perhaps  are  moved,  but  are  not  taught, 


kCfc  THE  TASK:. 

Whih  prejudice  in  men  of  stronger  minds 

Takes  deeper  root,  confirmed  by  what  they  see. 

A  relaxation  of  religion's  hold 

Upon  the  roving  and  untutored  heart, 

Soon  follows,  and,  the  curb  of  conscience  snapped, 

The  laity  run  wild — But  do  they  know  ? 

Note  their  extravagance,  and  be  convinced. 

As  nations,  ignorant  of  God,  contrive 
A  wooden  one  ;  so  we,  no  longer  taught 
By  monitors  that  mother  church  supplies, 
Now  make  our  own.     Posterity  will  ask 
(If  e'er  posterity  see  verse  of  mine) 
Some  fifty  or  a  hundred  lustrums  hence, 
What  was  a  monitor  in  George's  days  ? 
My  very  gentle  reader,  yet  unborn, 
Of  whom  I  needs  must  augur  better  things. 
Since  Heaven  would  sure  grow  weary  of  a  world 
Productive  only  of  a  race  like  ours, 
A  monitor  is  wood  —plank  shaven  thin. 
We  wear  it  at  our  backs.     There,  closely  braced 
And  neatly  fitted,  it  compresses  hard 
The  prominent  and  most  unsightly  bones, 
And  binds  the  shoulders  flat.     We  prove  its  us« 
Sovereign  and  most  effectual  to  secure 
A  form,  not  now  gymnastic  as  of  yore, 
From  rickets  and  distortion,  else  our  lot. 
But  thus  admonished,  we  can  walk  erect — 
One  proof  at  least  of  manhood  !  While  the  friend 
Sticks  close,  a  Mentor  worthy  of  his  charge. 
Our  habits,  costlier  than  Lucullus  wore, 
And  by  caprice  as  multiplied  as  his, 
Just  please  us  while  the  fashion  is  at  full, 
But  change  with  every  moon.     The  sycophant, 
Who  waits  to  dress  us,  arbitrates  their  date  ; 
Surveys  his  fair  reversion  with  keen  eye  ; 
Finds  one  ill  made,  another  obsolete, 
This  fits  not  nicely,  that  is  ill  conceived  ; 
And  making  prize  of  all  that  he  condemns, 


THE    TASK.  203 

With  our  expenditure  defrays  his  own. 

Variety 's  the  very  spice  of  life, 

That  gives  it  all  its  flavour.     We  have  run 

Through  every  char>ge,  that  Fancy,  at  the  loom 

Exhausted,  has  had  genius  to  supply ; 

And  studious  of  mutation  still,  discard 

A  real  elegance,  a  little  used, 

For  monstrous  novelty,  and  strange  disguise. 

We  sacrifice  to  dress,  till  househotd  joys 

And  comfort  cease.     Dress  drains  our  cellar  dry, 

And  keeps  our  larder  lean  ;  puts  out  our  fires  ; 

And  introduces  hunger,  frost,  and  wo, 

Where  peace  and  hospitality  might  reign. 

What  man  that  lives,  and  that  knows  how  to  live 

Would  fail  t'  exhibit  at  the  public  shows 

A  form  as  splendid  as  the  proudest  there, 

Though  appetite  raise  outcries  at  the  cost  ? 

A  man  o'  th'  town  dines  late,  but  soon  enough 

With  reasonable  forecast  and  despatch, 

T'  ensure  a  side-box  station  at  half-price. 

You  think,  perhaps,  so  delicate  his  dress, 

His  daily  fare  as  delicate.     Alas  ! 

He  picks  clean  teeth,  and  busy  as  he  seems 

With  an  old  tavern  quill,  is  hungry  yet ! 

The  route  is  Folly's  circle,  which  he  draws 

With  magic  wand.     So  potent  is  the  spell, 

That  none,  decoyed  into  that  fatal  ring, 

Unless  by  Heaven's  peculiar  grace,  escape. 

There  we  grow  early  gray,  but  never  wise ; 

There  form  connexions,  but  acquire  no  friend ; 

Solicit  pleasure  hopeless  of  success ; 

Waste  youth  in  occupations  only  fit 

For  second  childhood,  and  devote  old  age 

To  sports,  which  only  childhood  could  excuse; 

There  they  a^e  happiest,  who  dissemble  best 

Their  weariness ;  and  they  the  most  polite, 

Who  squander  time  and  treasure  with  a  smile, 

Though  at  their  own  destruction.     She  that  asks 


204  THE    TASK. 

Her  dear  five  hundred  friends  contemns  them  all, 

And  hates  their  coming.     They  (what  can  they  less?) 

Make  just  reprisals  ;  and,  with  cringe  and  shrug, 

And  bow  obsequious,  hide  their  hate  of  her. 

All  catch  the  frenzy,  downward  from  her  grace, 

Whose  flambeaux  flash  against  the  morning  skies, 

And  gild  our  chamber  ceiling  as  they  pass, 

To  her,  who,  frugal  only  that  her  thrift 

May  feed  excesses  she  can  ill  afford, 

Is  hackneyed  home  unlackeyed  ;  who,  in  haste 

Alighting,  turns  the  key  in  her  own  door, 

And,  at  the  watchman's  lantern  borrowing  light, 

Finds  a  cold  bed  her  only  comfort  left. 

Wives  beggar  husbands,  husbands  starve  their  wires, 

On  Fortune's  velvet  altar  offering  up 

Their  last  poor  pittance. — Fortune,  most  severe 

Of  Goddesses  yet  known,  and  costlier  far 

Than  all,  that  held  their  routs  in  Juno's  heaven  — 

So  fare  we  in  this  prison-house  the  World ; 

And  'tis  a  fearful  spectacle  to  see 

So  many  maniacs  dancing  in  their  chains. 

They  gaze  upon  the  links  that  hold  them  fast, 

With  eyes  of  anguish,  execrate  their  lot, 

Then  shake  them  in  despair,  and  dance  again  ! 

Now  basket  up  the  family  of  plagues, 
That  wastes  our  vitals  ;  peculation,  sale 
Of  honour,  perjury,  corruption,  frauds 
By  forgery,  by  subterfuge  of  law, 
By  tricks  and  lies  as  numerous  and  as  keen 
As  the  necessities  their  authors  feel ; 
Then  cast  them,  closely  bundled,  every  brat 
At  the  right  door.     Profusion  is  the  sire. 
Profusion  unrestrained,  with  all  that's  base 
In  character,  has  littered  all  the  land, 
And  bred,  within  the  memory  of  no  few, 
A  priesthood,  such  as  Baal's  was  of  old, 
A  people,  such  as  never  was  till  now. 
It  is  a  hungry  vice  : — it  eats  up  all 


THE    TASK.  205 

That  gives  society  its  beauty,  strength, 
Convenience,  and   ecurity,  and  use  : 
Makes  men  mere  vermin,  worthy  to  be  trapped 
And  gibbeted,  as  fast  as  catchpole  claws, 
Can  seize  the  slippery  prey  :  unties  the  knot 
Of  union,  and  converts  the  sacred  band, 
That  holds  mankind  together,  to  a  scourge. 
Profusion,  deluging  a  state  with  lusts 
Of  grossest  nature  and  of  worst  effects, 
Prepares  it  for  its  ruin  :  hardens,  blinds, 
And  warps  the  consciences  of  public  men, 
Till  they  can  laugh  at  Virtue  ;  mock  the  fools 
That  trust  them ;  and  in  the  end  disclose  a  face, 
That  would  have  shocked  Credulity  herself, 
Unmasked,  vouchsafing  their  sole  excuse — 
Since  all  alike  are  selfish,  why  not  they  ? 
This  does  Profusion,  and  the  accursed  cause 
Of  such  deep  mischief  has  itself  a  cause. 

In  colleges  and  halls  in  ancient  days, 
When  learning,  virtue,  piety  and  truth, 
Were  precious,  and  inculcated  with  care, 
There  dwelt  a  sage  called  Discipline.     His  head 
Not  yet  by  time  completely  silvered  o'er, 
Bespoke  him  past  the  bounds  of  freakish  youth, 
But  strong  for  service  still,  and  unimpaired. 
His  eye  was  meek  and  gentle,  and  a  smile 
Played  on  his  lips ;  and  in  his  speech  was  heard 
Paternal  sweetness,  dignity  and  love. 
The  occupation  dearest  to  his  heart 
Was  to  encourage  goodness.     He  would  stroke 
The  head  of  modest  and  ingenuous  worth, 
That  blushed  at  its  own  praise  ;  and  press  the  youth 
Close  to  his  side,  that  pleased  him.     Learning  grew 
Beneath  his  care  a  thriving  vigorous  plant ; 
The  mind  was  well  informed,  the  passions  held 
Subordinate,  and  diligence  was  choice. 
If  e'er  it  chanced,  as  sometimes  chance  it  must 
That  one  among  so  many  overleaped 
'18 


206  THE   TASK. 

The  limits  of  control,  his  ge  .tie  eye 

Grew  stern,  and  darted  a  severe  rebuke  : 

His  frown  was  full  of  terror,  and  his  voice 

Shook  the  delinquent  with  such  fits  of  awe, 

As  left  him  not,  till  penitence  had  won 

Lost  favour  back  again,  and  closed  the  breach 

But  Discipline,  a  faithful  servant  long ; 

Declined  at  length  into  the  vale  of  years  : 

A  palsy  struck  his  arm  ;  his  sparkling  eye 

Was  quenched  in  rheums  of  age  ;  his  voice  unstrung 

Grew  tremulous,  and  drew  derision  more 

Than  reverence  in  perverse,  rebellious  youth. 

So  colleges  and  halls  neglected  much 

Their  good  old  friend  ;  and  Discipline  at  length, 

O'erlooked  and  unemployed,  fell  sick  and  died. 

Then  Study  languished,  Emulation  slept, 

And  Virtue  fled.     The  schools  became  a  scene 

Of  solemn  farce,  where  Ignorance  in  stilts, 

His  cap  well  lined  with  logic  not  his  own, 

With  parrot  tongue  performed  the  scholar's  part, 

Proceeding  soon  a  graduated  dunce. 

Then  compromise  had  place,  and  scrutiny 

Became  stone  blind ;  precedence  went  in  truck 

And  he  was  competent  whose  purse  was  so. 

A  dissolution  of  all  bonds  ensued  ; 

The  curbs  invented  for  the  mulish  mouth, 

Of  headstrong  youth  were  broken  ;  bars  and  bolts 

Grew  rusty  by  disuse  ;  and  massy  gates 

Forgot  their  office,  opening  with  a  touch  ; 

Till  gowns  at  length  are  fou  nd  mere  masquerade 

The  tasseled  cap  and  the  spruce  band  a  jest, 

A  mockery  of  the  world  !  What  need  of  these 

For  gamesters,  jockeys,  brothellers  impure, 

Spendthrifts,  and  booted  sportsmen  oftener  seen 

With  belted  waist  and  pointers  at  their  heels, 

Than  in  the  bounds  of  duty  ?  What  was  learned, 

If  aught  was  learned  in  childhood,  is  forgot ; 

And  such  expense  as  pinches  parents  blue, 


THE  TASK.  207 

And  mortifies  the  liberal  hand  of  love, 

Is  squandered  in  pursuit  of  idle  sports 

And  vicious  pleasure  ;  buys  the  boy  a  name, 

That  sits  a  stigma  on  his  father's  house, 

And  cleaves  through  life  inseparably  close 

To  him  that  wears  it.     What  can  after-games 

Of  riper  joys,  and  commerce  with  the  world, 

The  lewd  vain  world,  that  must  receive  him  soon, 

Add  to  such  erudition,  thus  acquired, 

Where  science  and  where  virtue  are  professed  ? 

They  may  confirm  his  habits,  rivet  fast 

His  folly,  but  to  spoil  him  is  a  task, 

That  bids  defiance  to  th'  united  powers 

Of  fashion,  dissipation,  taverns,  stews. 

Now  blame  we  most  the  nursling  or  the  nurse  ? 

The  children  crooked,  twisted,  and  deformed, 

Through  want  of  care  ;  or  her,  whose  winking  eye, 

And  slumbering  oscitancy  mars  the  brood  ? 

The  nurse  no  doubt.     Regardless  of  her  charge, 

She  needs  herself  correction  ;  needs  to  learn, 

That  it  is  dangerous  sporting  with  the  world, 

With  things  so  sacred  as  the  nation's  trust, 

The  nurture  of  her  youth,  her  dearest  pledge. 

All  are  not  such.     I  had  a  brother  once 
Peace  to  the  memory  of  a  man  of  worth, 
A  man  of  letters,  and  of  manners  too  ! 
Of  manners  sweet  as  Virtue  always  wears, 
When  gay  Good-nature  dresses  her  in  smiles. 
He  graced  a  college,*  in  which  order  yet 
Was  sacred  ;  and  was  honoured,  loved,  and  wept, 
By  more  than  one,  themselves  conspicuous  there. 
Some  minds  are  tempered  happily,  and  mixed 
With  such  ingredients  of  good  sense,  and  taste, 
Of  what  is  excellent  in  man,  they  thirst 
With  such  a  zeal  to  be  what  they  approve, 
That  no  restraints  can  circumscribe  them  more 
Than  they  themselves  by  choice,  for  wisdom's  sake. 

*  Bcne't  Coll.  Cambridge. 


208  THE   TASK. 

Nor  can  example  hurt  them  :  what  they  see 
Of  vice  in  others  but  enhancing  more 
The  charms  of  virtue  in  their  just  esteem. 
If  such  escape  contagion,  and  emerge 
Pure  from  so  foul  a  pool  to  shine  abroad, 
And  give  the  world  their  talents  and  themselves, 
Small  thanks  to  those  whose  negligence  or  sloth 
Exposed  their  inexperience  to  the  snare, 
And  left  them  to  an  undirected  choice. 

See  then  the  quiver  broken  and  decayed, 
In  which  are  kept  our  arrows  !  Rustling  there 
In  wild  disorder,  and  unfit  for  use, 
What  wonder  if,  discharged  into  the  world, 
They  shame  their  shooters  with  a  random  flight, 
Their  points  obtuse,  and  feathers  drunk  with  wine  ! 
Well  may  the  church  wage  unsuccessful  war 
With  such  artillery  armed.     Yice  parries  wide 
Th'  undreaded  volley  with  a  sword  of  straw, 
And  stands  an  impudent  and  fearless  mark. 

Have  we  not  tracked  the  felon  home,  and  found 
His  birth-place  and  his  dam  ?  The  country  mournsf 
Mourns  because  every  plague,  that  can  infest 
Society,  and  that  saps  and  worms  the  base 
Of  th'  edifice  that  Policy  has  raised, 
Swarms  in  all  quarters :  meets  the  eye.  the  ear, 
And  suffocates  the  breath  at  every  turn, 
Profusion  breeds  them  ;  and  the  cause  itself 
Of  that  calamitous  mischief  has  been  found : 
Found  too  where  most  offensive,  in  the  skirts 
Of  the  robed  pedagogue  !  Else  let  th7  arraigned 
Stand  up  unconscious,  and  refute  the  charge. 
So  when  the  Jewish  leader  stretched  his  arm, 
And  waved  his  rod  divine,  a  race  obscene, 
Spawned  in  the  muddy  beds  of  Nile,  carne  forth. 
Polluting  Egypt :  gardens,  fields,  and  plains, 
Were  covered  with  the  pest ;  the  streets  were  filled ; 
The  croaking  nuisance  lurked  in  every  nook ; 
Nor  palaces,  nor  even  chambers,  'scaped ; 
A:id  the  land  stank — so  numerous  was  the  fry. 


THE   TASK. 


THE    TASK. 

BOOK  III. 

THE    GARDEN. 
ARGUMENT. 

SELF- RECOLLECTION  and  reproof. — Address  to  domestic  happiness. — 
Some  account  of  myself.— The  vanity  of  many  of  their  pursuits  who  are 
reputed  wise. — Justification  of  my  censures.— Divine  illumination  neces- 
sary to  the  most  expert  philosopher.— The  question,  What  is  truth  ?  an- 
swered by  other  questions.— Domestic  happiness  addressed  again. — Few 
lovers  of  the  country. — My  tame  hare.— Occupations  of  a  retired  gen- 
tleman in  his  garden. — Pruning. — Framing. — Green-house. — Sowing  ol 
flower-seeds. — The  country  preferable  to  the  town  even  in  winter. — Rea- 
sons why  it  is  deserted  at  that  season. — Ruinous  effects  of  gaming,  and 
of  expensive  improvement. — Book  concludes  with  an  apostrophe  to  the 
metropolis. 

As  one,  who  long  in  thickets  and  in  brakes 
Entangled,  winds  now  this  way  and  now  that 
His  devious  course  uncertain,  seeking  home ; 
Or,  having  long  in  miry  ways  been  foiled 
And  sore  discomfited,  from  slough  to  slough 
Plunging,  and  half-despairing  of  escape  ; 
If  chance  at  length  he  find  a  greensward  smooth 
And  faithful  to  the  foot,  his  spirits  rise, 
He  cherups  brisk  his  ear-erecting  steed, 
And  winds  his  way  with  pleasure  and  with  ease ; 
So  I,  designing  other  themes,  and  called 
T7  adorn  the  Sofa  with  eulogmm  due, 
To  tell  its  slumbers,  and  to  paint  its  dreams, 
Have  rambled  wide :  in  country,  city,  seat 
Of  academic  fame  (howe'er  deserved,) 
Long  held,  and  scarcely  disengaged  at  last. 
But  now  with  pleasant  pace  a" cleanlier  road 
I  mean  to  tread :  I  feel  myself  at  large. 
Courageous  and  refreshed  for  future  toil, 
If  toil  await  me,  or  if  dangers  new. 

Since  pulpits  fail,  and  sounding  boards  reflect, 


fclO  THE   TASK. 

Most  part  an  empty,  ineffectual  sound, 
What  chance  that  I,  to  fame  so  little  known, 
Nor  conversant  with  men  or  manners  much, 
Should  speak  to  purpose,  or  with  better  hope 

\  Crack  the  satiric  thong  ?     'Twere  wiser  far 
For  me,  enamoured  of  sequestered  scenes, 
And  charmed  with  rural  beauty,  to  repose 
Where  chance  may  throw  me,  beneath  elm  or  vine, 
My  languid  lirnbs,  when  summer  seers^he  plains, 
Or,  when  rough  winter  rages,  on  the  soft 
And  sheltered  Sofa,  while  the  nitrous  air 
Feeds  a  blue  flame,  and  makes  a  cheerful  hearth 
There,  undisturbed  by  Folly,  and  apprised 
How  great  the  danger  of  disturbing  her, 
To  muse  in  silence,  or,  at  least,  confine 
^  Remarks  that  gall  so  many,  to  the  few 
My  partners  in  retreat.     Disgust  concealed 

j    Is  ofttimes  proof  of  wisdom,  when  the  fault 

\  Is  obstinate,  and  cure  beyond  our  reachu/ 

-x     Domestic  happiness,  thou  only  bliss 
Of  Paradise,  that  has  survived  the  fall ! 
Though  few  now  taste  thee  unimpaired  and  pure, 
Or  tasting  long  enjoy  thee  !  too  infirm, 
Or  too  incautious  to  preserve  thy  sweets 
Unmixed  with  drops  of  bitter,  which  neglect 
Or  temper  sheds  into  thy  crystal  cup  ; 
Thou  art  the  nurse  of  Virtue,  in  thine  arms 
She  smiles,  appearing,  as  in  truth  she  is, 
Heaven-born,  and  destined  to  the  sfces  again. 
Thou  art  not  known  where  Pleasure  js  adored, 
That  reeling  goddess  with  the  zoneless  waist 
And  wandering  eyes,  still  leaning  on  the  arm 
Of  Novelty,  her  fickle,  frail  support; 
For  thou  art  meek  and  constant,  hating  change 
And  finding  in  the  calm  of  truth-tried  love 
Joys  that  her  stormy  raptures  never  yield. 
Forsaking  thee  what  shipwreck  have  we  made 
Of  honour,  dignity  and  fair  renown  ! 


THE  TASK.  B 

Till  prostitution  elbows  us  aside 
In  all  our  crowded  streets  ;  and  senates  seem 
Convened  for  purposes  of  empire,  less 
Than  to  release  the  adulteress  from  her  bond. 
Th'  adulteress  !  what  a  theme  for  angry  verse ! 
What  provocation  to  the  indignant  heart, 
That  feels  for  injured  love  !  but  I  disdain 
The  nauseous  task  to  paint  her  as  she  is, 
Cruel,  abandoned,  glorying  in  her  shame  ! 
No  :  let  her  pass,  and,  charioted  along 
In  guilty  splendour,  shake  the  public  ways  ; 
The  frequency  of  crimes  hag  washed  them  white. 
And  verse  of  mine  shall  never  brand  the  wretch 
Whonimatrojris  now,  of  character  unsrnirched, 
And  chaste  themselves,  are  not  ashamed  to  own 
VTHuelLndTvice  had  boundaries  in  old  time, 
Not  to  be  passed :  and  she,  that  had  renounced 
Her  sex's  honour,  was  renounced  herself 
By  all  that  prized  it ;  not  for  prudery's  sake, 
But  dignity's,  resentful  of  the  wrong. 
"Twas  hard  perhaps  on  here  and  there  a  waif, 
Desirous  to  return,  arid  not  received ; 
But  'twas  a  wholesome  rigour  in  the  main, 
And  taught  th'  unblemished  to  preserve  with  care 
That  purity,  whose  loss  was  loss  of  all. 
Men  too  were  nice  in  honour  in  those  days, 
And  judged  offenders  well.     Then  he  that  sharped, 
And  pocketed  a  prize  by  fraud  obtained, 
Was  marked  and  shunned  as  odious.     He  that  sold 
His  country,  or  was  slack  when  she  required 
His  every  nerve  in  action  and  at  stretch, 
Paid  with  the  blood  that  he  had  basely  spared, 
The  price  of  his  default.     But  now — yes,  now 
We  are  become  so  candid  and  so  fair, 
So  liberal  in  construction,  and  so  rich 
In  Christian  charity,  (good  natured  age  !) 
That  they  are  safe,  sinners  of  either  sex, 
Transgress  what  laws  they  may.     Well  dressed,  well 
bred, 


+YA  THE   TASK. 

Well  equipaged,  is  ticket  good  enough 
To  pass  as  readily  through  every  door. 
Hypocrisy,  detest  her  as  we  may, 
(And  no  man's  hatred  ever  wronged  her  yet) 
May  claim  this  merit  still — that  she  admits 
The  worth  of  what  she  mimics  with  such  care, 
And  thus  gives  Virtue  indirect  applause  ; 
But  she  has  burnt  her  mask,  not  needed  here, 
Where  vice  has  such  allowance,  that  her  shifts 
And  specious  semblances  have  lost  their  use. 

I  was  a  stricken  deer,  that  left  the  herd 
Long  since.     With  many  an  arrow  deep  infixed 
My  panting  side  was  charged,  when  I  withdrew 
To  seek  a  tranquil  death  in  distant  shades, 
There  was  I  found  by  one  who  had  himself 
Been  hurt  by  th'  archers.     In  his  side  he  bore, 
And  in  his  hands  and  feet,  the  cruel  scars. 
With  gentle  force  soliciting  the  darts, 
He  drew  them  forth,  and  healed,  and  bade  me  live. 
Since  then,  with  few  associates  in  remote 
And  silent  woods  I  wander,  far  from  those 
My  former  partners  of  the  peopled  scene ; 
With  few  associates,  and  not  wishing  more. 
Here  much  I  ruminate,  as  much  I  may, 
With  other  views  of  men  and  manners  nov/ 
Than  once,  and  others  of  a  life  to  come. 
I  see  that  all  are  wanderers,  gone  astray 
Each  in  his  own  delusions  ;  they  are  lost 
In  chase  of  fancied  happiness,  still  wooed 
And  never  won.     Dream  after  dream  ensues  ; 
And  still  they  dream  that  they  shall  still  succ  ed. 
And  still  are  disappointed.     Rings  the  world 
With  the  vain  stir.     I  sum  up  half  mankind, 
And  add  two  thirds  of  the  remaining  half, 
And  find  the  total  of  their  hopes  and  fears 
Dreams,  empty  dreams.     The  million  flit  as  gay 
As  if  created  only  like  the  f*TT, 
That  spreads  his  motley  wings  in  th'  eye  of  noon 


THE  TAS*.  213 

To  sport  their  season,  and  be  seen  no  more. 
The  rest  are  sober  dreamers,  grave  and  wise, 
And  pregnant  with  discoveries  new  and  rare. 
Some  write  a  narrative  of  wars,  and  feats 
Of  heroes  little  known  ;  and  call  the  rant 
A  history  :  describe  the  man  of  whom 
His  own  coevals  took  but  little  note, 
And  paint  his  person,  character,  and  views, 
As  they  had  known  him  from  his  mother's  womb. 
They  disentangle  from  the  puzzled  skein, 
In  which  obscurity  has  wrapped  them  up 
The  threads  of  politic  and  shrewd  design, 
That  ran  through  all  his  purposes,  and  charge 
His  mind  with  meanings  that  he  never  had, 
Or,  having,  kept  concealed.     Some  drill  and  bore 
The  solid  earth,  arid  from  the  strata  there 
Extract  a  register,  by  which  we  learn, 
That  he  who  made  it,  and  revealed  its  date 
To  Moses,  was  mistaken  in  its  age. 
Some,  more  acute,  and  more  industrious  still, 
Contrive  creation  ;  travel  nature  up 
To  the  sharp  peak  of  her  sublimest  height, 
And  tell  us  whence  the  stars  ;  why  some  are  fixed 
And  planetary  some  ;  what  gave  them  first 
Rotation,  from  what  fountain  flowed  their  light. 
Great  contest  follows,  and  much  learned  dust 
Involves  the  combatants  ;  each  claiming  truth, 
And  truth  disclaiming  both.     And  thus  they  spend 
)  The  little  wick  of  life's  poor  shallow  lamp 
In  playing  tricks  with  nature,  giving  laws 
I  To  distant  worlds,  and  trifling  in  their  own. 
Is't  not  a  pity  now  that  tickling  rheums 
Should  ever  tease  the  lungs,  and  blear  the  sight 
Of  oracles  like  these  'I  Great  pity  too, 
That  having  wielded  the  elements,  and  built 
A  thousand  systems,  each  in  his  own  way, 
They  should  go  out  in  fume,  and  be  forgot 
Ah  !  what  is  life  thus  spent?  and  what  are  they 


2.*  THE  TASK. 

But  frantic,  who  thus  spend  it  ?  all  for  smoke — 
Eternity  for  bubbles  proves  at  last 
A  senseless  bargain.     When  I  see  such  games 
Played  by  the  creatures  of  a  Power,  who  swears 
That  he  will  judge  the  earth  and  call  the  fool 
To  a  sharp  reckoning,  that  has  lived  in  vain ; 
And  when  I  weigh  this  seeming  wisdom  well, 
And  prove  it  in  the  infallible  result 
So  hallow  and  so  false — I  feel  my  heart 
Dissolve  in  pity,  and  account  the  learned, 
If  this  be  learning,  most  of  all  deceived. 
Great  crimes  alarm  the  conscience,  but  it  sleeps, 

.  While  thoughtful  man  is  plausibly  amused, 
Defend  me  therefore,  common  sense,  say  I, 
From  reveries  so  airy,  from  the  toil 
Of  dropping  buckets  into  empty  wells, 
And  growing  old  in  drawing  nothing  up  ! 

'Twere  well,  says  one  sage  erudite,  profound, 
Terribly  arched,  and  aquiline  his  nose, 
And  overbuilt  with  most  impending  brows, 
'Twere  well,  could  you  permit  the  world  to  live 
As  the  world  pleases  ;  what's  the  world  to  you  ? 
Much.     I  was  born  of  woman,  and  drew  milk 
As  sweet  as  charity  from  human  breasts. 
I  think,  articulate,  I  laugh  and  weep, 
And  exercise  all  functions  of  a  man. 
How  then  should  I  and  any  man  that  lives 
Be  strangers  to  each  other  ?  Pierce  my  vein, 
Take  of  the  crimson  stream  meandering  there, 
And  chatechise  it  well ;  apply  the  glass, 
Search  it,  and  prove  now  if  it  be  not  blood 

,  Congenial  with  thine  own,  and,  if  it  be, 
What  edge  of  subtlety  canst  thou  suppose 
Keen  enough,  wise  and  skilful  as  thou  art, 
To  cut  the  link  of  brotherhood,  by  which 
One  common  Maker  bound  me  to  the  kind  ? 
True  ;  I  am  no  proficient,  I  confess, 
In  arts  like  yours.     I  cannot  call  tf  e  swift 


THE   TASK.  215 

And  perilous  lightnings  from  the  angry  clouds, 
And  bid  them  hide  themselves  in  earth  beneath,, 
I  cannot  analyze  the  air,  nor  catch 
The  parallax  of  yonder  luminous  point, 
That  seems  half  quenched  in  the  immense  abyss : 
Such  powers  I  boast  not — neither  can  I  rest 
A  silent  witness  of  the  headlong  rage, 
Or  heedless  folly,  by  which  thousands  die, 
Bone  of  my  bone,  and  kindred  souls  to  mine. 

God  never  meant  that  man  should  scale  the  hea* 

vens 

By  stride  of  human  wisdom,  in  his  works, 
Though  wondrous :  he  commands  us  in  his  word 
To  seek  him  rather  where  his  rnercy  shines. 
The  mind,  indeed,  enlightened  from  above, 
Views  him  in  all :  ascribes  to  the  grand  cause 
The  grand  effect ;  acknowledges  with  joy 
His  manner,  and  with  rapture  tastes  his  style  ; 
But  never  yet  did  philosophic  tube, 
That  brings  the  planets  home  into  the  eye 
Of  observation,  and  discovers,  else 
Not  visible,  his  family  of  worlds, 
Discover  him  that  rules  them  ;  such  a  veil 
Hangs  over  mortal  eyes,  blind  from  the  birth, 
And  dark  in  things  divine.     Ffril  often  too 
Our  wayward  intellect,  the  more  we  learn 
Of  nature,  overlooks  her  author  more  ; 
From  instrumental  causes  proud  to  draw 
Conclusions  retrograde,  and  mad  mistake. 
But  if  his  word  once  teach  us,  shoot  a  ray 
Through  all  the  heart's  dark  chambers,  and  reveal 
Truths  undiscerned  but  by  that  holy  light, 
Then  all  is  plain.     Philosophy,  baptized 
In  the  pure  fountain  of  eternal  love, 
Has  eyes  indeed  ;  and  viewing  all  she  sees 
As  meant  to  indicate  a  God  to  man, 
Gives  him  his  praise,  and  forfeits  not  her  own. 
Learning  has  borne  such  fruit  in  other  days 


216  THE   TASK. 

On  all  her  branches  ;  piety  has  found 

Friends  in  the  friends  of  science,  and  true  prayer 

Has  flowed  from  lips  wet  with  Castalian  dews. 

Such  was  thy  wisdom,  Newton,  child-like  sage ! 

Sagacious  reader  of  the  works  of  God> 

And  in  this  word  sagacious.     Such  too  thine, 

Milton,  whose  genius  had  angelic  wings, 

And  fed  on  manna  !     And  such  thine,  in  whom 

Our  British  Themis  gloried  with  just  cause, 

Immortal  Hale  !  for  deep  discernment  praised, 

And  sound  integrity,  not  more  than  famed 

For  sanctity  of  manners  undefiled. 

All  flesh  is  grass,  and  all  its  glory  fades 
Like  the  fair  flower  dishevelled  in  the  wind  ; 
Riches  have  wings,  and  grandeur  is  a  dream. 
The  man  we  celebrate  must  find  a  tomb, 
And  we  that  worship  him  ignoble  graves. 
Nothing  is  proof  against  the  general  curse 
Of  vanity,  that  seizes  all  below. 
The  only  amaranthine  flower  on  earth 
Is  virtue  ;  th?  only  lasting  treasure,  truth. 
But  what  is  truth  ?     'Twas  Pilate's  question  put 
To  truth  itself,  that  deigned  him  no  reply. 
And  wherefore  ?  will  not  God  impart  his  light 
To  them  that  ask  it  ? — Freely — 'tis  his  joy. 
His  glory,  arid  his  nature,  to  impart. 
But  to  the  proud,  uncandid,  insincere, 
Or  negligent  inquirer,  not  a  spark. 
What's  that,  which  brings  contempt  upon  a  book, 
And  him  who  writes  it,  though  the  style  be  neat. 
The  method  clear,  arid  argument  exact  ? 
That  makes  a  minister  in  holy  things 
The  joy  of  many,  and  the  dread  of  more, 
His  name  a  theme  for  praise  and  for  reproach  ? — 
That,  while  it  gives  us  worth  in  God's  account, 
Depreciates  and  undoes  us  in  our  own  ? 
What  pearl  is  it  that  rich  men  cannot  buy, 
That  learning  is  too  proud  to  gather  up ; 


THE   TASK  217 

But  which  the  poor,  and  the  despised  of  all, 
Seek  and  obtain,  and  often  find  unsought  1 
Tell  me — and  I  will  tell  thee  what  is  truth. 

O  friendly  to  the  best  pursuits  of  man, 
Friendly  to  thought,  to  virtue,  and  to  peace, 
Domestic  life  in  rural  pleasure  passed  ! 
Few  know  thy  value,  and  few  taste  thy  sweets , 
Though  many  boast  thy  favours,  and  affect 
To  understand  and  choose  thee  for  their  own. 
But  foolish  man  foregoes  his  proper  bliss, 
E'en  as  his  first  progenitor,  and  quits, 
Though  placed  in  Paradise  (for  earth  has  still 
Some  traces  of  her  youthful  beauty  left,) 
Substantial  happiness  for  transient  joy. 
Scenes  formed  for  contemplation,  and  to  nurse 
The  growing  seeds  of  wisdom  ;  that  suggest, 
By  every  pleasing  image  they  present, 
Reflections  such  as  meliorate  the  heart, 
Compose  the  passions,  and  exalt  the  mind  ; 
Scenes  such  as  these  'tis  his  supreme  delight 
To  fill  with  riot  and  defile  with  blood. 
Should  some  contagion,  kind  to  the  poor  brutes 
We  persecute,  annihilate  the  tribes 
That  draw  the  sportsman  over  hill  and  dale 
Fearless,  and  wrapt  away  from  all  his  cares  ; 
Should  never  game-fowl  hatch  her  eggs  again, 
Nor  baited  hook  deceive  the  fish's  eye  ; 
Could  pageantry  and  dance,  and  feast  and  song, 
Be  quelled  in  all  our  summer-months'  retreats  ; 
How  many  self-deluded  nymphs  and  swains, 
Who  dream  they  have  a  taste  for  fields  and  groves, 
Would  find  them  hideous  nurseries  of  the  spleen 
^And  crowd  the  roads,  impatient  for  the  town  !      . 
They  love  the  country,  and  none  else,  who  seek  / 
x^For  their  own  sake  its  silence,  and  its  shade. 
Delights  which  who  would  leave,  that  has  a  heart 
Susceptible  of  pity,  or  mind 
Cultured  and  capable  of  sober  thought, 

19 


218  THE  TASK. 

For  all  the  savage  din  of  the  swift  pack, 

And  clamours  of  the  field  ?—  detested  sport, 

That  owes  its  pleasures  to  another's  pain  ; 

That  feeds  upon  the  sobs  and  dying  shrieks 

Of  harmless  nature,  dumb,  but  yet  endued 

With  eloquence,  that  agonies  inspire, 

Of  silent  tears  and  heart-distending  sighs  ? 

Vain  tears,  alas,  and  sighs  that  never  find 

A  corresponding  tone  in  jovial  souls  ! 

Well — one  at  least  is  safe.     One  sheltered  hare 

Has  never  heard  the  sanguinary  yell 

Of  cruel  man,  exulting  in  her  woes. 

Innocent  partner  of  my  peaceful  home, 

Whom  ten  long  years'  experience  of  my  care 

Has  made  at  last  familiar  ;  she  has  lost 

Much  of  her  vigilant  instinctive  dread, 

Not  needful  here,  beneath  a  roof  like  mine. 

Yes — thou  mayest  eat  thy  bread,  and  lick  the  hand 

That  feeds  thee ;  thou  mayest  frolic  on  the  floor 

At  evening,  and  at  night  retire  secure 

To  thy  straw  couch,  and  slumber  unalarmed  ; 

For  I  have  gained  thy  confidence,  have  pledged 

All  that  is  human  in  me,  to  protect 

Thine  unsuspecting  gratitude  and  love, 

If  I  survive  thee,  I  will  dig  thy  grave  ; 

And,  when  I  place  thee  in  it,  sighing  say, 

I  knew  at  least  one  hare  that  had  a  friend. 

How  various  his  employments,  whom  the  world 
Calls  idle  ;  and  who  justly  in  return 
Esteems  that  busy  world  an  idler  too  ! 
Friends,  books,  a  garden,  and  perhaps  his  pen. 
Delightful  industry  enjoyed  at  home, 
And  Nature,  in  her  cultivated  trim, 
Dressed  to  his  taste,  inviting  him  abroad. — 
Can  he  want  occupation,  who  has  these  ? 
Will  he  be  idle,  who  has  much  t'  enjoy  ? 
Me  therefore  studious  of  laborious  ease, 
Not  slothfulj  happy  to  deceive  the  time, 


THE    TASK.  219 

Not  waste  it,  and  aware  that  human  life 

Is  but  a  loan  to  be  repaid  with  use, 

When  He  shall  call  his  debtors  to  account, 

From  whom  are  all  our  blessings,  business  finds 

E'en  here  :  while  sedulous  1  seek  t7  improve, 

At  least  neglect  not,  or  leave  unemployed, 

The  mind  he  gave  me  ;  driving  it,  though  slack 

Too  oft,  and  much  impeded  in  its  work 

By  causes  not  to  be  divulged  in  vain, 

To  its  just  point — the  service  of  mankind. 

He  that  attends  to  his  interior  self, 

That  has  a  heart  and  keeps  it ;  has  a  mind 

That  hungers,  and  supplies  it :  and  who  seeks 

A  social,  not  a  dissipated  life, 

Has  business  ;  feels  himself  engaged  t'  achieve 

No  unimportant,  though  a  silent,  task. 

A  life  all  turbulence  and  noise  may  seem 

To  him  that  leads  it  wise,  and  to  be  praised ; 

But  wisdom  is  a  pearl  with  most  success 

Sought  in  still  water,  and  beneath  clear  skies. 

He  that  is  ever  occupied  in  storms, 

Or  dives  not  for  it,  or  brings  up  instead, 

Vainly  industrious,  a  disgraceful  prize. 

The  morning  finds  the  self-sequestered  man 
Fresh  for  his  task,  intend  what  task  he  may. 
Whether  inclement  seasons  recommend 
His  warm  but  simple  home,  where  he  enjoys, 
With  her,  who  shares  his  pleasures  and  his  heart, 
Sweet  converse,  sipping  calm  the  fragrant  lymph, 
Which  neatly  she  prepares  :  then  to  his  book 
Well  chosen,  and  not  sullenly  perused 
In  selfish  silence,  but  imparted  oft, 
As  aught  occurs,  that  she  may  smile  to  hear, 
Or  turn  to  nourishment,  digested  well, 
Or  if  the  garden  with  its  many  cares, 
All  well  repaid,  demand  him,  he  attends 
The  welcome  call,  conscious  how  much  the  hand 
Of  lubbard  labour  needs  his  watchful  eye, 


220  THE    TASK. 

Oft  loitering  lazily,  if  not  o'erseen, 

Or  misapplying  his  unskilful  strength. 

Nor  does  he  govern  only  or  direct, 

But  much  performs  himself.     No  works,  indeed 

That  ask  robust,  tough  sinews,  bred  to  toil, 

Servile  employ :  but  such  as  may  amuse, 

Not  tire,  demanding  rather  skill  than  force. 

Proud  of  his  well-spread  walls,  he  views  his  trees 

That  meet,  no  barren  interval  between, 

With  pleasure  more  than  e'en  their  fruits  afford ; 

Which,  save  himself  who  trains  them,  none  can  feel 

These  therefore  are  his  own  peculiar  charge  ; 

No  meaner  hand  may  discipline  the  shoots, 

None  but  his  steel  approach  them.     What  is  weak, 

Distempered,  or  has  lost  prolific  powers, 

Impaired  by  age,  his  unrelenting  hand 

Dooms  to  the  knife;  nor  does  he  spare  the  soft 

And  succulent,  that  feeds  its  giant  growth, 

But  barren,  at  th'  expense  of  neighbouring  twig 

Less  ostentatious,  and  yet  studded  thick 

With  hopeful  gems.     The  rest,  no  portion  left 

That  may  disgrace  his  art,  or  disappoint 

Large  expectation,  he  disposes  neat 

At  measured  distances,  that  air  and  sun, 

Admitted  freely  may  afford  their  aid, 

And  ventilate  and  warm  the  swelling  buds. 

Hence  Summer  has  her  riches,  Autumn  hence, 

And  hence  e'en  Winter  fills  his  withered  hand 

With  blushing  fruits,  and  plenty  not  his  own.* 

Fair  recompense  of  labour  well  bestowed, 

And  wise  precaution ;  which  a  clime  so  rude 

Makes  needful  still,  whose  Spring  is  but  the  child 

Of  churlish  Winter,  in  her  froward  moods 

Discovering  much  the  temper  of  her  sire. 

For  oft,  as  if  in  her  the  stream  of  mild 

Maternal  nature  had  reversed  its  course, 

She  sings  her  infants  forth  with  many  smiles , 

*  Miraturque  novus  fructus  et  non  sua  poma.1— VIRG. 


THE    TASK.  221 

But,  once  delivered,  kills  them  with  a  frown. 
He  therefore,  timely  warned  himself}  supplies 
Her  want  of  care,  screening  arid  keeping  warm 
The  plenteous  bloom,  that  no  rough  blast  may  sweep 
His  garlands  from  the  boughs.     Again,  as  oft 
As  the  sun  peeps  and  vernal  airs  breathe  mild, 
The  fence  withdrawn,  he  gives  them  every  beam, 
And  spreads  his  hopes  before  the  blaze  of  day. 

To  raise  the  prickly  and  green-coated  gourd 
So  grateful  to  the  palate,  and  when  rare 
So  coveted,  else  base  and  disesteemed — 
Food  for  the  vulgar  merely — is  an  art 
That  toiling  ages  have  but  just  matured, 
And  at  this  moment  unessayed  in  song. 
Yet  gnats  have  had,  and  frogs  and  mice,  long  since, 
Their  eulogy  ;  those  sang  the  Mantuan  bard 
And  these  the  Grecian,  in  ennobling  strains  ; 
And  in  thy  numbers,  Philips,  shines  for  aye 
The  solitary  shilling.     Pardon  then, 
Ye  sage  dispensers  of  poetic  fame, 
Th'  ambition  of  one  meaner  far,  whose  powers, 
Presuming  an  attempt  not  less  sublime, 
Pant  for  the  praise  of  dressing  to  the  taste 
Of  critic  appetite,  no  sordid  fare, 
A  cucumber,  while  costly  yet  and  scarce. 

The  stable  yields  a  stercoraceous  heap, 
Impregnated  with  quick  fermenting  salts, 
And  potent  to  resist  the  freezing  blast : 
For,  e'er  the  beach  and  elm  have  cast  their  leaf 
Deciduous,  when  now  November  dark 
Checks  vegetation  in  the  torpid  plant 
Exposed  to  his  cold  breath,  the  task  begins. 
Warily,  therefore,  and  with  prudent  heed, 
He  seeks  a  favoured  spot ;  that  where  he  builds 
Th'  agglomerated  pile  his  frame  may  front 
The  sun's  meridian  disk,  and  at  the  back 
Enjoy  close  shelter,  wall,  or  reeds,  or  hedge 
Impervious  to  the  wind.     First  he  bids  spread 


222  THE   TASK. 

Dry  fern  or  littered  hay,  that  may  imbibe 

Th'  ascending  damps  ;  then  leisurely  impose, 

And  lightly,  shaking  it  with  agile  hand 

From  the  full  fork,  the  saturated  straw. 

What  longest  binds  the  closest  forms  secure 

The  shapely  side,  that  as  it  rises  takes, 

By  just  degrees,  an  overhanging  breadth, 

Sheltering  the  base  with  its  projected  eaves  ; 

Th'  uplifted  frame,  compact  at  every  joint, 

And  overlaid  with  clear  translucent  glass, 

He  settles  next  upon  the  sloping  mount, 

Whose  sharp  declivity  shoots  off  secure 

From  the  dashed  pane  the  deluge  as  it  falls. 

He  shuts  it  close,  and  the  first  labour  ends. 

Thrice  must  the  voluble  arid  restless  earth 

Spin  round  upon  her  axle,  ere  the  warmth 

Slow  gathering  in  the  midst,  through  the  square  mass 

Diffused,  attain  the  surface  ;  when,  behold  ! 

A  pestilent  and  most  corrosive  steam, 

Like  a  gross  fog  Boeotian,  rising  fast, 

And  fast  condensed  upon  the  dewy  sash, 

Asks  egress  ;  which  obtained,  the  overcharged 

And  drenched  conservatory  breathes  abroad, 

In  volumes  wheeling  slow,  the  vapour  dank ; 

And,  purified,  rejoices  to  have  lost 

Its  foul  inhabitant.     But  to  assuage 

Th'  impatient  fervour,  which  it  first  conceives 

Within  its  reeking  bosom,  threatning  death 

To  his  young  hopes,  requires  discreet  delay, 

Experience,  slow  preceptress,  teaching  oft 

The  way  to  glory  by  miscarriage  foul, 

Must  prompt  him,  and  admonish  how  to  catch 

Th'  auspicious  moment,  when  the  tempered  heat, 

Friendly  to  vital  motion,  jnay  afford 

So  ft  fomentation,  arid  invite  the  seed. 

The  seed,  selected  wisely,  plump  and  smooth, 

And  glossy,  he  commits  to  pots  of  size 

Diminutive,  well  filled  with  well  prepared 


THE  TASK.  323 

And  fruitful  soil,  that  has  been  treasured  long, 

And  drank  no  moisture  from  the  dripping  clouds. 

These  on  the  warm  and  genial  earth,  that  hides 

The  smoking  manure,  and  o'erspreads  it  all, 

He  places  lightly,  and,  as  time  subdues 

The  rage  of  fermentation,  plunges  deep 

In  the  soft  medium,  till  they  stand  immersed. 

Then  rise  the  tender  germs,  upstarting  quick, 

And  spreading  wide  their  spongy  lobes  ;  at  first 

Pale,  wan,  and  livid  ;  but  assuming  soon, 

If  fanned  by  balmy  and  nutritious  air, 

Strained  through  the  friendly  mats,  a  vivid  green. 

Two  leaves  produced,  two  rough  indented  leaves, 

Cautious  he  pinches  from  the  second  stalk 

A  pimple,  that  portends  a  future  sprout, 

And  interdicts  its  growth.     Thence  straight  succeed 

The  branches,  sturdy  to  his  utmost  wish  ; 

Prolific  all,  and  harbingers  of  more. 

The  crowded  roots  demand  enlargement  now, 

And  transplantation  in  an  ampler  space. 

Indulged  in  what  they  wish,  they  soon  supply 

Large  foliage,  overshadowing  golden  flowers, 

Blown  on  the  summit  of  th'  apparent  fruit. 

These  have  their  sexes  !  and,  when  summer  shines, 

The  bee  transports  the  fertilizing  meal 

From  flower  to  flower,  and  e'en  the  breathing  air 

Wafts  the  rich  prize  to  its  appointed  use. 

Not  so  when  winter  scowls.     Assistant  art 

Then  acts  in  Nature's  office,  brings  to  pass 

The  glad  espousals,  and  ensures  the  crop. 

Grudge  not,  ye  rich,  (since  luxury  must  have 
His  dainties,  and  the'  world's  more  numerous  half 
Lives  by  contriving  delicates  for  you,) 
Grudge  not  the  cost.     You  little  know  the  cares, 
The  vigilance,  the  labour,  and  the  skill, 
That  day  and  night  are  exercised,  and  hang 
Upon  the  ticklish  balance  of  suspense, 
That  ye  may  garnish  your  profuse  regales 


224  THE  TASK. 

With  summer  fruits  brought  forth  by  wintry  suns 
Ten  thousand  dangers  lie  in  wait  to  thwart 
The  process.     Heat  and  cold,  and  wind,  and  steam. 
Moisture  and  drought,  mice,  worms,  and  swarming 

flies, 

Minute  as  dust,  and  numberless,  oft  work 
Dire  disappointment,  that  admits  no  cure, 
And  which  no  care  can  obviate.     It  were  long, 
Too  long,  to  tell  th'  expedients  and  the  shifts, 
Which  he  that  fights  a  season  so  severe 
Devises,  while  he  guards  his  tender  trust ; 
And  oft  at  last  in  vain.     The  learned  and  wise 
Sarcastic  would  exclaim,  and  judge  the  song 
Cold  as  its  theme,  and  like  its  theme,  the  fruit 
Of  too  much  labour,  worthless  when  produced. 
Who  loves  a  garden  loves  a  green-house  too. 
Unconscious  of  a  less  propitious  clime. 
There  blooms  exotic  beauty,  warm  and  snug, 
While  the  winds  whistle,  and  the  snows  descend. 
The  spiry  myrtle  with  unwithering  leaf 
Shines  there  and  flourishes.     The  golden  boast 
Of  Portugal  and  western  India  there, 
The  ruddier  orange,  and  the  paler  lime, 
Peep  through  the  polished  foliage  at  the  storm, 
And  seem  to  smile  at  what  they  need  not  fear. 
Th'  amomum  there,  with  intermingling  flowers 
And  cherries  hangs  her  twigs.     Geranium  boasts 
Her  crimson  honours ;  and  the  spangled  beau, 
Ficoides,  glitters  bright  the  winter  long. 
All  plants  of  every  leaf  that  can  endure 
The  winter's  frown,  if  screened  from   his  shrewd 

bite, 

Live  there,  and  prosper.     Those  Ausonia  claims, 
Levantine  regions  these  ;  the  Azores  send 
Their  jessamine,  her  jessamine  remote 
Caifraria  ;  foreigners  from  many  lands, 
They  form  one  social  shade,  as  if  convened 
By  magic  summons  of  th'  Orphean  lyre. 


THE   TASK.  225 

Yet  just  arrangement,  rarely  brought  to  pass 
But  by  a  master's  hand,  disposing  well 
The  gay  diversities  of  leaf  and  flower, 
Must  lend  its  aid  t'  illustrate  all  their  charms. 
And  dress  the  regular  yet  various  scene. 
Plant  behind  plant  aspiring,  in  the  van 
The  dwarfish,  in  the  rear  "retired,  but  still, 
Sublime  above  the  rest,  the  statelier  stand. 
So  once  were  ranged  the  sons  of  ancient  Rome 
A  noble  show  !  while  Roscius  trod  the  stage, 
And  so,  while  Garrick.  as  renowned  as  he,     l*  *<?..< 
The  sons  of  Albion  ;  fearing  each  to  lose 
Some  note  of  Nature's  music  from  his  lips, 
And  covetous  of  Shakspeare's  beauty,  seen 
In  every  flash  of  his  far -beaming  eye. 
Nor  taste  alone  and  well  contrived  display 
Sufficed  to  give  the  marshalled  ranks  the  grace 
Of  their  complete  effect.     Much  yet  remains 
Unsung,  and  many  cares  are  yet  behind, 
And  more  laborious  ;  cares  on  which  depends 
Their  vigour,  injured  soon,  not  soon  restored. 
The  soil  must  be  renewed,  which,  often  washed, 
Loses  its  treasure  of  salubrious  salts, 
And  disappoints  the  roots  ;  the  slender  roots 
Close  interwoven,  and  where  they  meet  the  vase 
Must  smooth  be  shorn  away ;  the  sapless  branch 
Must  fly  before  the  knife  ;  the  withered  leaf 
Must  be  detached,  where  it  strews  the  floor 
Swept  with  a  woman's  neatness,  breeding  else 
Contagion,  and  disseminating  death. 
Discharge  but  these  kind  offices,  (and  who 
Would  spare,  that  loves  them,  offices  like  these  ?) 
Well  they  reward  the  toil.     The  sight  is  pleased, 
The  scent  regaled,  each  odoriferous  leaf, 
Each  opening  blossom  freely  breathes  abroad 
[ts  gratitude,  and  thanks  him  with  its  sweets. 

So  manifold,  all  pleasing  in  their  kind, 
All  healthful,  are  th'  employs  of  rural  life* 


220  THE   TASK 

Reiterated  as  the  wheel  of  time 

Runs  round  ;  still  ending,  and  beginning  still. 

Nor  are  these  all.     To  deck  the  shapely  knoll, 

That  softly  swelled  and  gayly  dressed  appears 

A  flowery  island,  from  the  dark  green  lawn 

Emerging,  must  be  deemed  a  labour  due 

To  no  mean  hand,  and  asks  the  touch  of  taste. 

Here  also  grateful  mixture  of  well-matched 

And  sorted  hues  (each  giving  each  relief. 

And  by  contrasted  beauty  shining  more) 

Is  needful.     Strength    may    wield    the    ponderous 

spade, 

May  turn  the  clod,  and  wheel  the  compost  home ; 
But  elegance,  chief  grace  the  garden  shows, 
d  And  most  attractive,  is  the  fair  result 
j  Of  thought,  the  creature  of  a  polished  mind. 
Without  it  all  is  gothic  as  the  scene, 
To  which  the  insipid  citizen  resorts 
Near  yonder  heath  ;  where  Industry  mispent, 
But  proud  of  his  uncouth  ill-chosen  task, 
Has  made  a  heaven  on  earth  ;  with  suns  and  moons 
Of  close  rammed  stones  has  charged  th?  encumbered 

soil, 

And  fairly  laid  the  zodiac  in  the  dust 
He,  therefore,  who  would  see  his  flowers  disposed 
Sightly  and  in  just  order,  ere  he  gives 
The  beds  the  trusted  treasure  of  their  seeds, 
Forecasts  the  future  whole  ;  that  when  the  scene 
Shall  break  into  its  preconceived  display, 
Each  for  itself,  and  all  as  with  one  voice 
Conspiring,  may  attest  his  bright  design. 
Nor  even  then,  dismissing  as  performed 
His  pleasant  work  may  he  suppose  it  done. 
Few  self-supported  flowers  endure  the  wind 
Uninjured,  but  expect  th'  upholding  aid 
Of  the  smooth-shaven  prop,  ami,  neatly  tied, 
Are  wedded  thus,  like  beauty  to  old  age, 
For  interest  sake,  the  living  to  the  doad. 


T  H 15      A  S  K.  227 

Some  clothe  the  soil  that  feeds  them,  far  diffused 

And  lowly  creeping,  modest  and  yet  fair, 

Like  virtue,  thriving  most  where  little  seen. 

Some  more  aspiring  catch  the  neighbour  shrub 

With  clasping  tendrils,  and  invest  his  branch, 

Else  unadorned,  with  many  a  gay  festoon 

And  fragrant  chaplet,  recompensing  well 

The  strength  they  borrow  with  the  grace  they  lend. 

All  hate  the  rank  society  of  weeds, 

Noisome,  and  ever  greedy  to  exhaust 

Th'  impoverished  earth  ;  an  overbearing  race. 

That,  like  the  multitude  made  faction-mad, 

Disturb  good  order,  and  degrade  true  worth. 

O  blest  seclusion  from  a  jarring  world, 
Which  he  thus  occupied  enjoys  !  Retreat 
Cannot  indeed  to  guilty  man  restore 
Lost  innocence,  or  cancel  follies  past ; 
t&ut  it  has  peace,  and  much  secures  the  mind 
From  all  assaults  of  evil ;  proving  still 
A  faithful  barrier,  not  o'erleaped  with  ease 
By  vicious  Custom,  raging  uncontrolled 
Abroad,  and  desolating  public  life. 
When  fierce  Temptation,  seconded  within 
By  traitor  Appetite,  arid  armed  with  darts 
Tempered  in  hell,  invades  the  throbbing  breast, 
To  combat  may  be  glorious,  and  success 
Perhaps  may  crown  us ;  but  to  fly  is  safe. 
Had  I  the  choice  of  sublunary  good, 
What  could  T  wish,  that  I  possessed  not  here  ? 
Health,  leisure,  means  t'  improve  it,  friendship,  peace       /  /  / 
No  loose  or  wanton,  though  a  wandermjyguse,  /;( 

A.nd  constant  occupation  withoifTcare. 
Thus  blest  I  draw  a  picture  of  that  bliss  ; 
Hopeless,  indeed,  that  dissipated  minds, 
And  profligate  abusers  of  a  world 
Created  fair  so  much  in  vain  for  them, 
Should  seek  the  guiltless  joys,  that  I  describe, 
Allured  by  my  report :  but  sure  no  less, 


228  THE  TASK. 

That  self-condemned  they  must  neglect  the  prize, 

And  what  they  will  not  taste  must  yet  approve. 

What  we  admire  we  praise  ;  and,  when  we  praise 

Advance  it  into  notice,  that  is  worth 

Acknowledged,  others  may  admire  it  too. 

I  therefore  recommend,  though  at  the  risk 

Of  popular  disgust,  yet  boldly  still, 

The  cause  of  piety,  and  sacred  truth, 

And  virtue,  and  those  scenes,  which  God  ordained 

Should  best  secure  them,  and  promote  them  most, 

Scenes  that  I  love,  and  with  regret  perceive 

Forsaken,  or  through  folly  not  enjoyed. 

Pure  is  the  nymph,  though  liberal  of  her  smiley 

And  chaste,  though  unconfined,  whom  I  extol, 

Not  as  the  prince  in  Shushan,  when  he  called, 

Vainglorious  of  her  charms,  his  Vashti  forth, 

To  grace  the  full  pavilion.     His  design 

Was  but  to  boast  his  own  peculiar  good, 

Which  all  might  view  with  envy,  none  partake 

My  charmer  is  not  mine  alone  ;  my  sweets, 

And  she  that  sweetens  all  my  bitters  too, 

Nature,  enchanting  Nature,  in  whose  form 

And  lineaments  divine  I  trace  a  hand 

That  errs  not,  and  find  raptures  still  renewed, 

Is  free  to  all  men  —universal  prize. 

Strange  that  so  fair  a  creature  should  yet  want 

Admirers  and  be  destined  to  divide 

With  meaner  objects  e'en  the  few  she  finds ; 

Stripped  of  her  ornaments,  her  leaves  and  flowers, 

She  loses  all  her  influence.     Cities  then 

Attract  us,  and  neglected  Nature  pines 

Abandoned,  as  unworthy  of  our  love. 

But  are  not  wholesome  airs,  though  unperfumed 

By  roses  ;  and  clear  suns,  though  scarcely  felt ; 

Arid  groves,  if  uriharmonious,  yet  secure 

From  clamour,  and  whose  very  silence  charms ; 

To  be  preferred  to  smoke,  to  the  eclipse 

That  metropolitan  volcanoes  make, 


THE  TASK.  229 

Whose  Stygian  throats  breathe    darkness   all  day 

long? 

And  to  the  stir  of  Commerce,  driving  slow, 
And  thundering  loud,  with  his  ten  thousand  wheels ; 
They  would  be,  were  not  madness  in  the  head, 
And  folly  in  the  heart ;  were  England  now 
What  England  was, — plain,  hospitable,  kind,    \ 
And  undebauched.     But  we  have  bid  farewell  ) 
To  all  the  virtues  of  those  better  days, 
And  all  their  honest  pleasures.     Mansions  once 
Knew  their  own  masters  ;  and  laborious  hinds, 
Who  had  survived  the  father,  served  the  son. 
Now  the  legitimate  and  rightful  lord 
Is  but  a  transient  guest,  newly  arrived, 
As  soon  to  be  supplanted.     He,  that  saw 
His  patrimonial  timber  cast  its  leaf, 
Sells  the  last  scantling,  and  transfers  the  price 
To  some  shrewd  sharper,  ere  it  buds  again. 
Estates  are  landscapes,  gazed  upon  awhile 
Then  advertised,  and  auctioneered  away. 
The  country  starves,  and  they   that  feed  th7  o'er- 

charged 

And  surfeited  lewd  town  with  her  fair  dues, 
^BylTjust  judgment  strip  and  starve  themselves. 
The  wings  that  waft  our  riches  out  of  sight, 
Grow  on  the  gamester's  elbows  ;  and  th'  alert 
And  nimble  motion  of  those  restless  joints, 
That  never  tire,  soon  fans  them  all  away. 
Improvement  too,  the  idol  of  the  age, 
Is  fed  with  many  a  victim.     Lo,  he  comes  ! 
The  omnipotent  magician,  Brown,  appears! 
Down  falls  the  venerable  pile,  th'  abode 
Of  our  forefathers — a  grave  whiskered  race, 
But  tasteless.     Springs  a  palace  in  its  stead, 
But  in  a  distant  spot ;  where  more  exposed 
It  may  enjoy  th'  advantage  of  the  north, 
And  aguish  east,  till  time  shall  have  transformed 
Those  naked  acres  to  a  sheltering  grove. 

20 


230  THE  TASK. 

He  speaks.     The  lake  in  front  becomes  a  lawn ; 
Woods  vanish,  hills  subside,  and  valleys  rise  ; 
And  streams,  as  if  created  for  his  use, 
Pursue  the  tract  of  his  directing  wand, 
Sinuous  or  straight,  now  rapid  and  now  slow, 
Now  murmuring  soft,  now  roaring  in  cascades — 
E'en  as  he  bids  !  Th'  enraptured  owner  smiles. 
'Tis  finished,  and  yet,  finished  as  it  seems, 
Still  wants  a  grace,  the  loveliest  it  could  show, 
A  mine  to  satify  th'  enormous  cost. 
Drained  to  the  last  poor  item  of  its  wealth, 
He  sighs,  departs,  and  leaves  th'  accomplished  plan 
That  he  has  touched,  retouched,  many  a  long  day 
Laboured,  and  many  a  night  pursued  in  dreams, 
Just  when  it  meets  his  hopes,  and  proves  the  heaven 
He  wanted,  fora  wealthier  to  enjoy*! 
And  now  perhaps  the  glorious  hour  is  come, 
When,  having  no  stake  left,  no  pledge  t'  endear 
Her  interests,  or  that  gives  her  sacred  cause 
A  moment's  operation  on  his  love, 
He  burns  with  most  intense  and  flagrant  zeal 
To  serve  his  country.     Ministerial  grace 
Deals  him  out  money  from  the  public  chest ; 
Or,  if  that  mine  be  shut,  some  private  purse 
Supplies  his  need  with  a  usurious  loan, 
To  be  refunded  duly,  when  his  vote, 
Well-managed,  shall  have  earned  its  worthy  price. 
O  innocent,  compared  with  arts  like  these, 
Crape,  arid  cocked  pistol,  and  the  whisting  ball 
Sent  through  the  traveller's  temples  !  He  that  finds 
One  drop  of  Heaven's  sweet  mercy  in  his  cup, 
Can  dig,  beg,  rot,  and  perish,  well  content, 
So  he  may  wrap  himself  in  honest  rags 
At  his  last  gasp  ;  but  could  not  for  a  world 
Fish  up  his  dirty  and  dependant  bread 
From  pools  and  ditches  of  the  commonwealth, 
Sordid  and  sickening  at  his  own  success. 
Ambition,  avarice,  penury  incurred 


THE  TASK.  831 

By  endless  riot,  vanity,  the  lust 

Of  pleasure  and  variety,  despatch, 

As  duly  as  the  swallows  disappear 

The  world  of  wandering  knights  and  squires  to  town 

London  ingulfs  them  all !  The  shark  is  there, 

And  the  shark's  prey  ;  the  spendthrift,  arid  the  leech 

That  sucks  him  ;  there  the  sycophant,  and  he 

Who  with  bareheaded  and  obsequious  bows 

Begs  a  warm  office,  doomed  to  a  cold  jail 

And  groat  per  diem,  if  his  patron  frown. 

The  levee  swarms,  as  if  in  golden  pomp 

Were  charactered  on  every  statesman's  door, 

'  Battered  and  bankrupt  fortunes  mended  here! 

These  are  the  charms,  that  sully  and  eclipse 

The  charms  of  nature.     'Tis  the  cruel  gripe, 

That  lean,  hard-handed  Poverty  inflicts, 

The  hope  of  better  things,  the  chance  to  win, 

The  wish  to  shine,  the  thirst  to  be  amused, 

That  at  the  sound  of  Winter's  hoary  wing 

Unpeople  all  our  counties  of  such  herds 

Of  fluttering,  loitering,  cringing,  begging,  loose, 

And  wanton  vagrants,  as  make  London,  vast 

And  boundless  as  it  is,  a  crowded  coop. 

O  thou,  resort  and  mart  of  all  the  earth, 
Checkered  with  all  complexions  of  mankind, 
And  spotted  with  all  crimes  ;  in  whom  1  see 
Much  that  I  love,  and  more  that  I  admire, 
And  all  that  I  abhor  ;  thou  freckled  fair, 
That  pleasest  and  yet  shock'st  me,  I  can  laugh, 
And  I  can  weep,  can  hope,  and  can  despond, 
Feel  wrath  and  pity,  when  I  think  on  thee  ! 
Ten  righteous  would  have  saved  a  city  once, 
And  thou  hast  many  righteous. — W^ell  for  thee — 
That  salt  preserves  thee  ;  more  corrupted  else, 
And  therefore  more  obnoxious,  at  this  hour, 
Than  Sodom  in  her  day  had  power  to  be, 
For  whom  God  heard  his  Abraham  plead  in  vain, 


23?  THF  TASK. 


THE   TASK. 

BOOK  IV. 

THE   WINTER   EVENING. 

ARGUMENT. 

THE  post  comes  in. — The  newspaper  is  read. — The  world  contemplated 
at  a  distance. — Address  to  Winter.— The  rural  amusements  of  a  winter 
evening  compared  with  the  fashionable  ones. — Address  to  evening. — A 
brown  study. — Fall  of  snow  in  the  evening. — The  wagoner. — A  poor 
family-piece. — The  rural  thief. — Public  houses.— The  multitude  of  them 
censured. — The  farmer's  daughter;  what  she  was— what  she  is. — The 
simplicity  of  country  manners  almost  lost. — Causes  of  the  change.— 
Desertion  of  the  country  by  the  rich. — Neglect  of  magistrates.— The 
militia  principally  in  fault. — The  new  recruit  and  his  transformation. — 
Reflection  on  bodies  corporate. — The  love  of  rural  objects  natural  to  ail, 
and  never  to  be  totally  extinguished. 

HARK  !  'tis  the  twanging  horn  o'er  yonder  bridge. 
That  with  its  wearisome  but  needful  length 
Bestrides  the  wintry  flood,  in  which  the  moon 
Sees  her  un  wrinkled  face  reflected  bright ; — 
He  comes,  the  herald  of  a  noisy  world, 
With  spattered  boots,  strapped  waist,  arid  frozen  locks; 
News  from  all  nations  lumbering  at  his  back. 
True  to  his  charge,  the  close  packed  load  behind, 
Yet  careless  what  he  brings,  his  one  concern 
Is  to  conduct  it  to  the  destined  inn  ; 
And,  having  dropped  th'  expected  bag,  pass  on* 
He  whistles  as  he  goes,  light-hearted  wretch, 
Cold  and  yet  cheerful :  messenger  of  grief 
Perhaps  to  thousands,  and  of  joy  to  some  ; 
To  him  indifferent  whether  grief  or  joy. 
Houses  in  ashes,  and  the  fall  of  stocks, 
Births,  deaths,  and  marriages,  epistles  wet 
With  te^rs,  that  trickled  down  the  writer's  cheeks, 
Fast  as  the  periods  from  his  fluent  quill, 
Or  charged  with  amorous  sighs  of  absent  swains, 
Oi  nymphs  responsive,  equally  affect 


THE  TASK.  233 

His  horse  and  him,  unconscious  of  them  all. 
But  O,  th'  important  budget !  ushered  in 
With  such  heart-shaking  music,  who  can  say, 
What  are  its  tidings  ?  have  our  troops  awaked  ? 
Or  do  they  still,  as"  if  with  opium  drugged, 
Snore  to  the  murmurs  of  the  Atlantic  wave  ? 
Is  India  free  ?  and  does  she  wear  her  plumed 
And  jeweled  turban  with  a  smile  of  peace, 
Or  do  we  grind  her  still  ?     The  grand  debate, 
The  popular  harangue,  the  tart  reply, 
The  logic,  arid  the  wisdom,  and  the  wit, 
And  the  loud  laugh — I  long  to  know  them  all ; 
I  burn  to  set  th'  imprisoned  wranglers  free, 
And  give  them  voice  and  utterance  once  again. 
Now  stir  the  fire,  and  close  the  shutters  fast, 
Let  fall  the  curtains,  wheel  the  sofa  round, 
And,  while  the  bubbling  and  loud  hissing  urn 
Throws  up  a  steamy  column,  and  the  cups 
That  cheer  but  not  inebriate,  wait  on  each, 
So  let  us  welcome  peaceful  evening  in  ; 
Not  such  his  evening,  who  with  shining  face 
S  weats  in  the  crowded  theatre,  and,  squeezed 
And  bored  with  elbow-points  through  both  his  sides, 
Outscolds  the  ranting  actor  on  the  stage  : 
Nor  his,  who  patient  stands  till  his  feet  throb, 
And  his  head  thumps,  to  feed  upon  the  breath 
Of  patriots,  bursting  with  heroic  rage, 
Or  placemen,  all  tranquillity  and  smiles. 
This  folio  of  four  pages,  happy  work, 
Which  not  e'en  critics  criticise  ;  that  holds 
Inquisitive  attention,  while  I  read, 
Fast  bound  in  chains  of  silence,  which  the  fair, 
Though  eloquent  themselves,  yet  fear  to  break  ; 
What  is  it,  but  a  map  of  busy  life, 
Its  fluctuations,  and  its  vast  concerns  ? 
Here  runs  the  mountainous  and  craggy  ridge, 
That  tempts  ambition.     On  the  summit  see 
The  seals  of  office  glitter  in  his  eyes  : 
20* 


234  THE   TA  S  K. 

He  climbs,  he  pants,  he  grasps  them !  At  his  heels, 

Close  at  his  heels,  a  demagogue  ascends, 

And  with  a  dexterous  jerk~soon  twists  him  down, 

And  wins  them,  but  to  lose  them  in  his  turn. 

Here  rills  of  oily  eloquence  in  soft 

Meanders  lubricate  the  course  they  take ; 

The  modest  speaker  is  ashamed  and  grieved, 

T'  engross  a  moment's  notice  ;  and  yet  begs, 

Begs  a  propitious  ear  for  his  poor  thoughts, 

However  trivial  all  that  he  conceives. 

Sweet  bashfulness  !  it  claims  at  least  this  praise  ; 

The  dearth  of  information  and  good  sense, 

That  it  foretells  us,  always  comes  to  pass. 

Cataracts  of  declamation  thunder  here  ; 

There  forests  of  no  meaning  spread  the  page, 

In  which  all  comprehension  wanders  lost ; 

While  fields  of  pleasantry  amuse  us  there 

With  merry  descants  on  a  nations  woes. 

The  rest  appears  a  wilderness  of  strange 

J3ut  gay  confusion  ;  roses  for  the  cheeks, 

And'lilies  for  the  brows  of  faded  age, 

Teeth  for  the  toothless,  ringlets  for  the  bald, 

Heaven,  earth,  and  ocean,  plundered  of  their  sweets, 

Nectareous  essences,  Olympian  dews, 

Sermons,  and  city  feasts,  and  favourite  airs, 

/Ethereal  journeys,  submarine  exploits, 

And  Katterfelto,  with  his  hair  on  end 

At  his  own  wonders,  wondering  for  his  bread. 

'Tis  pleasant,  through  the  loopholes  of  retreat, 
To  peep  at  such  a  world ;  to  see  the  stir 
Of  the  great  Babel,  and  not  feel  the  crowd  ; 
To  hear  the  roar  she  sends  through  all  her  gates 
At  a  safe  distance,  where  the  dying  sound 
Falls  a  soft  murmur  on  th'  uninjured  ear. 
Thus  sitting,  and  surveying  thus  at  ease 
The  globe  and  its  concerns,  I  seem  advanced 
To  some  secure  and  more  than  mortal  height, 
That  liberates  and  exempts  me  from  them  all 


THE    TASK.  23i 

It  turns  submitted  to  my  view,  turns  round 

With  all  its  generations  ;  I  behold 

The  tumult,  and  am  still.     The  sound  of  war 

Has  lost  its  terrors  ere  it  reaches  me ; 

(*  i  ieves,  but  alarms  me  not.     1  mourn  the  pride 

And  avarice  that  makes  man  a  wolf  to  man  ; 

Hear  the  faint  echo  of  those  brazen  throats, 

By  which  he  speaks  the  language  of  his  heart, 

And  sigh,  but  never  tremble  at  the  sound. 

He  travels  and  expatiates,  as  the  bee 

From  flower  to  flower,  so  he  from  land  to  land : 

The  manners,  customs,  policy  of  all 

Pay  contribution  to  the  store  he  gleans ; 

He  sucks  intelligence  in  every  clime, 

And  spreads  the  honey  of  his  deep  research 

At  his  return — a  rich  repast  for  me. 

He  travels,  and  I  too.     I  tread  his  deck, 

Ascend  his  topmast,  through  his  peering  eyes 

Discover  countries,  with  a  kindred  heart 

Suifer  his  woes,  and  share  in  his  escapes  ; 

While  fancy,  like  the  finger  of  a  clock, 

Runs  the  great  circuit,  and  is  still  at  home. 

O  Winter,  ruler  of  th'  inverted  year, 
Thy  scattered  hair  with  sleet  like  ashes  filled, 
Thy  breath  congealed  upon  thy  lips,  thy  cheeks 
Fringed  with  a  beard  made  white  with  other  snows 
Than  those  of  age,  thy  forehead  wrapped  in  clouds, 
A  leafless  branch  thy  sceptre,  and  thy  throne 
A  sliding  car,  indebted  to  no  wheels, 
But  urged  by  storms  along  its  slippery  way, 
I  love  thee,  all  unlovely  as  thou  seem'st, 
And  dreaded  as  thou  art !  Thou  hold'st  the  sun 
A  prisoner  in  the  yet  undawning  east, 
Shortening  his  journey  between  morri  and  11000, 
And  hurrying  him,  impatient  of  his  stay, 
Down  to  the  rosy  west ;  but  kindly  still 
Compensating  his  loss  with  added  hours 
Of  social  converse  and  instructive  ease, 


236  THE    TASK. 

And  gathering,  at  short  notice,  in  one  group 

The  family  dispersed,  and  fixing  thought, 

Not  less  dispersed  by  daylight  and  its  cares. 

I  crown  thee  king  of  intimate  delights, 

Fireside  enjoyments,  homeborn  happiness, 

And  all  the  comforts,  that  the  lowly  roof 

Of  undisturbed  Retirement,  and  the  hours 

Of  long  uninterrupted  evening,  know. 

No  rattling  wheels  stop  short  before  these  gates  . 

No  powdered  pert  proficient  in  the  art 

Of  sounding  an  alarm  assaults  these  doors 

Till  the  street  rings  ;  no  stationary  steeds 

Cough  their  own  knell^  while  heedless  of  the  sound, 

The  silent  circle  fan  themselves,  and  quake  : 

But  here  the  needle  plies  its  busy  task, 

The  pattern  grows,  the  well  depicted  flower, 

Wrought  patiently  into  the  snowy  lawn, 

Unfolds  its  bosom  ;  buds,  and  leaves,  and  sprigs, 

And  curling  tendrils,  gracefully  disposed, 

Follow  the  nimble  finger  of  the  fair ; 

A  wreath  that  cannot  fade,  of  flowers,  that  blow 

With  most  success  when  all  besides  decay. 

The  poet's  or  historian's  page  by  one 

Made  vocal  for  th'  amusement  of  the  rest ; 

The  sprightly  lyre,  whose  treasure  of  sweet  sounds 

The  touch  from  many  a  trembling  chord  shakes  out ; 

And  the  clear  voice  symphonic  us,  yet  distinct, 

And  in  the  charming  strife  triumphant  still, 

Beguile  the  night,  and  set  a  keener  edge 

On  female  industry :  the  threaded  steel 

Flies  swiftly,  and  unfelt  the  task  proceeds. 

The  volume  closed,  the  customary  rights 

Of  the  last  meal  commence.     A  Roman  meal ; 

Such  as  the  mistress  of  the  world  once  found 

Delicious,  when  her  patriots  of  high  note, 

Perhaps  by  moonlight,  at  their  humble  doors, 

And  under  an  old  oak's  domestic  shade, 

Enjoyed,  spare  feast !  a  radish  and  an  egg. 


THE    TASK. 

Discourse  ensues,  not  trivial,  yet  not  dull, 
Nor  such  as  with  a  frown  forbids  the  play 
Of  fancy,  or  prescribes  the  sound  of  mirth. 
Nor  do  we  madly,  like  an  impious  world, 
Who  deem  religion  frenzy,  and  the  God 
That  made  them,  an  intruder  on  their  joys, 
Start  at  his  awful  name,  or  deem  his  praise 
A  jarring  note.     Themes  of  a  graver  tone, 
Exciting  oft  our  gratitude  and  love, 
While  we  retrace  with  Memory's  pointing  wand, 
That  calls  the  past  to  our  exact  review, 
The  dangers  we  have  'scaped,  the  broken  snare, 
The  disappointed  foe,  deliverance  found 
Unlocked  for,  life  preserved,  and  peace  restored, 
Fruits  of  omnipotent  eternal  love. 
O  evenings  worthy  of  the  gods  !  exclaimed 
The  Sabine  bard.     O  evenings,  I  reply, 
More  to  be  prized  and  coveted  than  yours, 
As  more  illumined,  and  with  nobler  truths, 
That  I,  and  mine,  and  those  we  love,  enjoy. 

Is  Winter  hideous  in  a  garb  like  this  ? 
Needs  he  the  tragic  fur,  the  smoke  of  lamps, 
The  pent-up  breath  of  an  unsavoury  throng, 
To  thaw  him  into  feeling ;  or  the  smart 
And  snappish  dialogue,  that  flippant  wits 
Call  comedy,  to  prompt  him  with  a  smile  ? 
The  self-compkcent  actor,  when  he  views 
(Stealing  a  sidelong  glance  at  a  full  house) 
The  slope  of  faces  from  the  floor  to  th'  roof 
(As  if  one  master-spring  controlled  them  all) 
Relaxed  into  a  universal  grin, 
Sees  not  a  countenance  there  that  speaks  of  joy 
Half  so  refined  or  so  sincere  as  ours. 
Cards  were  superfluous  here,  with  all  the  tricks 
That  idleness  has  ever  yet  contrived 
To  fill  the  void  of  an  unfurnished  brain, 
To  palliate  dulness,  and  give  time  a  shove. 
Time,  as  he  passes  us,  has  a  dove's  wing, 


238  THE  TASK. 

Unsoiled  and  swift,  and  of  a  silken  sound ; 
But  the  world's  Time  is  Time  in  masquerade  ! 
Theirs,  should  I  paint  him,  has  his  pinions  fledged 
With  motley  plumes  ;  and,  where  the  peacock  showa 
His  azure  eyes,  is  tinctured  black  and  red 
With  spots  quadrangular  of  diamond  form, 
Ensanguined  hearts,  clubs  typical  of  strife, 
And  spades,  the  emblem  of  untimely  graves. 
What  should  be,  and  what  was  an  hour-glass  once, 
Becomes  a  dice-box,  and  a  billiard  mace 
Well  does  the  work  of  his  destructive  scythe. 
Thus  decked,   he   charms  a    world  whom  fashion 

blinds 

To  his  true  worth,  most  pleased  when  idle  most  ; 
Whose  only  happy  are  their  wasted  hours. 
E'en  misses,  at  whose  age  their  mothers  wore 
The  backstring  and  the  bib,  assume  the  dress 
Of  womanhood,  fit  pupils  in  the  school 
Of  card-devoted  Time,  and  night  by  night 
Placed  at  some  vacant  corner  of  the  board, 
Learn  every  trick,  and  soon  play  all  the  game. 
But  truce  with  censure.     Roving  as  I  rove, 
Where  shall  I  find  an  end,  or  how  proceed  ? 
As  he  who  travels  far  oft  turns  aside, 
To  view  some  rugged  rock  or  mouldering  tower, 
Which  seen  delights  him  not ;  then  corning  home, 
Describes  and  prints  it,  that  the  world  may  know 
How  far  he  went  for  what  was  nothing  worth  : 
So  I,  with  brush  in  hand,  and  palette  spread, 
With  colours  mixed  for  a  far  different  use, 
Paint  cards,  and  dolls,  and  every  idle  thing, 
That  Fancy  finds  in  her  excursive  flights. 

Come,  Evening,  once  again,  season  of  peace ; 
Return,  sweet  Evening,  and  continue  long 
Methinks  I  see  thee  in  the  streaky  west, 
With  matron  step  slow  moving,  while  the  night 
Treads  on  thy  sweeping  train  !  one  hand  employed 
In  letting  fall  the  curtain  of  repose 


THE   TASK.  239 

On  b:/d  and  beast,  the  other  charged  for  man 
With  sweet  oblivion  of  the  cares  of  day  : 
Not  sumptuously  adorned,  not  needing  aid, 
Like  homely-featured  Night,  of  clustering  gems ; 
A  star  or  two  just  twinkling  on  thy  brow, 
Suffices  thee  ;  save  that  the  moon  is  thine 
No  less  than  hers,  not  worn  indeed  on  high 
With  ostentatious  pageantry,  but  set 
With  modest  grandeur  in  thy  purple  zone, 
Resplendent  less,  but  of  an  ampler  round. 
Come  then,  and  thou  shalt  find  thy  votary  calm, 
Or  make  me  so.     Composure  is  thy  gift : 
And,  whether  I  devote  thy  gentle  hours 
To  books,  to  music,  or  the  poet's  toil ; 
To  weaving  nets  for  bird-alluring  fruit ; 
Or  twining  silken  threads  round  ivory  reels. 
When  they  command  whom  man  was  bom  to  please 
I  slight  thee  not,  but  make  thee  welcome  still. 
Just  when  our  drawing-rooms  begin  to  blaze 
With  lights,  by  clear  reflection  multiplied 
From  many  a  mirror,  in  which  he  of  Gath, 
Goliah,  might  have  seen  his  giant  bulk 
Whole  without  stooping,  towering  crest  and  all, 
My  pleasures  too  begin.     But  me  perhaps 
The  glowing  hearth  may  satisfy  awhile 
With  faint  illumination,  that  uplifts 
The  shadows  to  the  ceiling,  there  by  fits 
Dancing  uncouthly  to  the  quivering  flame. 
Not  andelighted  is  an  hour  to  me 
So  spent  in  parlour  twilight :  such  a  gloom 
Suits  well  the  thoughtful  or  unthinking  mind, 
The  mind  contemplative,  with  some  new  theme 
Pregnant,  or  indisposed  alike  to  all. 
Laugh  ye,  who  boast  your  more  mercurial  powers. 
That  never  felt  a  stupor,  know  no  pause, 
Nor  need  one  ;  I  am  conscious,  and  confess 
Fearless,  a  soul  that  does  not  always  think. 
Me  oft  has  Fancy  ludicrous  and  wild 


240  THE   TASK. 

Soothed  with  a  waking  dream  of  houses,  towers, 

Trees,  churches,  and  strange  visages,  expressed 

In  the  red  cinders,  while  with  poring  eye 

I  gazed,  myself  creating  what  I  saw. 

Nor  less  amused  have  I  quiescent  watched 

The  sooty  films,  that  play  upon  the  bars 

Pendulous,  and  foreboding  in  the  view 

Of  superstition,  prophesying  still, 

Though  still  deceived,  some  stranger's  near  approach, 

'Tis  thus  the  understanding  takes  repose 

In  indolent  vacuity  of  thought, 

And  sleeps,  and  is  refreshed.     Meanwhile  the  face 

Conceals  the  mood  lethargic  with  a  mask 

Of  deep  deliberation,  as  the  man 

Were  tasked  to  his  full  strength,  absorbed  and  lost 

Thus  oft,  reclined  at  ease,  I  lose  an  hour 

At  evening,  till  at  length  the  freezing  blast, 

That  sweeps  the  bolted  shutter,  summons  home 

The  recollected  powers  ;  and  snapping  short 

The  glassy  threads,  with  which  the  fancy  weaves 

Her  brittle  toils,  restores  me  to  myself. 

How  calm  is  my  recess  ;  and  how  the  frost, 

Raging  abroad,  and  the  rough  wind  endear 

The  silence  and  the  warmth  enjoyed  within  ? 

I  saw  the  woods  and  fields  at  close  of  day 

A  variegated  show  ;  the  meadows  green, 

Though  faded  ;  and  the  lands,  where  lately  waved 

The  golden  harvest,  of  a  mellow  brown, 

Upturned  so  lately  by  the  forceful  share. 

I  saw  far  off  the  weedy  fallows  smile 

With  verdure  not  unprofitable,  grazed 

By  flocks,  fast  feeding  ;  and  selecting  each 

His  favourite  herb  ;  while  all  the  leafless  groves 

That  skirt  the  horizon,  wore  a  sable  hue, 

Scarce  noticed  in  the  kindred  dusk  of  eve. 

To-morrow  brings  a  change,  a  total  change ! 

Which  even  now,  though  silently  performed, 

And  slowly,  and  by  most  unfelt,  the  face 


THE    TASK.  241 

Of  universal  nature  undergoes. 

Past  falls  a  fleecy  shower :  the  downy  flakes 

Descending,  and,  with  never  ceasing  lapse, 

Softly  alighting  upon  all  below, 

Assimilate  all  objects.     Earth  receives 

Gladly  the  thickening  mantle  ;  and  the  green 

And  tender  blade  that  feared  the  chilling  blast,        f  , 

Escapes  unhurt  beneath  so  warm  a  veil. 

In  such  a  world,  so  thorny,  and  where  none 
Finds  happiness  unblighted,  or,  if  found, 
Without  some  thistly  sorrow  at  its  side, 
It  seems  the  part  of  wisdom,  and  no  sin 
Against  the  law  of  love,  to  measure  lots 
With  less  distinguished  than  ourselves  ;  that  thus 
We  may  with  patience  bear  our  moderate  ills, 
And  sympathize  with  others  sulfering  more. 
Ill  fares  the  traveller  now.  and  he  that  stalks 
In  ponderous  boots  beside  his  reeking  team. 
The  wain  goes  heavily,  impeded  sore 
By  congregated  loads  adhering  close 
To  the  clogged  wheels  ;  and  in  its  sluggish  pace 
Noiseless  appears  a  moving  hill  of  snow. 
The  toiling  steeds  expand  the  nostril  wide, 
While  every  breath,  by  respiration  strong 
Forced  downward,  is  consolidated  soon 
Upon  their  jutting  chests.     He,  formed  to  bear 
The  pelting  brunt  of  the  tempestuous  night, 
With  half-shut  eyes,  arid  puckered  cheeks  and  teeth 
Presented  bare  against  the  storm,  plods  on. 
One  hand  secures  his  hat,  save  when  with  both 
He  brandishes  his  pliant  length  of  whip, 
Resounding  oft,  and  never  heard  in  vain. 
O  happy  ;  and  in  my  account  denied 
That  sensibility  of  pain,  with  which 
Refinement  is  endued,  thrice  happy  thou  ! 
Thy  frame,  robust  and  hardy,  feels  indeed 
The  piercing  cold,  but  feels  it  unimpaired. 
The  learned  finger  never  need  explore 

2  . 


5>42  THE   TASK. 

The  vigorous  pnlse  ;  and  the  unhealthful  east, 
That  breathes  the  spleen,  and  searches  every  bone 
Of  the  infirm,  is  wholesome  air  to  thee. 
Thy  days  roll  on  exempt  from  household  care 
Thy  wagon  is  thy  wife  ;  and  the  poor  beasts, 
^hat  drag  the  dull  companion  to  and  fro, 
Thine  helpless  charge,  dependent  on  thy  care. 
Ah  treat  them  kindly  !  rude  as  thou  appearest, 
Yet  show  that*  thou  hast  mercy  !  which  the  great, 
With  needless  hurry  whirled  from  place  to  place, 
Humane  as  they  would  seem,  not  always  show. 
Poor,  yet  industrious,  modest,  quiet,  neat, 
Such  claim  compassion  in  a  night  like  this, 
And  have  a  friend  in  every  feeling  heart. 
Warmed,  while  it  lasts,  by  labour,  all  day  long 
They  brave  the  season,  and  yet  find  at  eve, 
III  clad  and  fed  but  sparely,  time  to  cool. 
The  frugal  housewife  trembles  when  she  lights 
Her  scanty  stock  of  brushwood,  blazing  clear, 
But  dying  soon,  like  all  terrestrial  joys. 
The  few  small  embers  left  she  nurses  well ; 
And,  while  her  infant  race,  with  outspread  hands, 
And  crowded  knees  sit  cowering  o'er  the  sparks, 
Retires,  content  to  quake,  so  they  be  warmed. 
The  man  feels  least ;  as  more  inured  than  she 
To  winter  and  the  current  in  his  veins 
More  briskly  moved  by  his  severer  toil ; 
Yet  he  too  finds  his  own  distress  in  theirs. 
The  taper  soon  extinguished,  which  I  saw 
Dangled  along  at  the  cold  finger's  end 
Just  when  the  day  declined ;  and  the  brown  loaf 
Lodged  on  the  shelf,  half  eaten  without  sauce 
Of  savoury  cheese,  or  butter,  costlier  still ; 
Sleep  seems  their  only  refuge  ;  for  alas  ! 
Where  penury  is  felt  the  thought  is  chained, 
And  sweet  colloquial  pleasures  are  but  few. 
With  all  this  thrift  they  thrive  not.     All  the  cars 
Ingenious  parsimony  takes,  but  just 


THK  TASK  ,343 

Saves  ilie  small  inventory,  bed,  and  stooi, 
Skillet,  and  old  carved  chest,  from  public  sale. 
They  live,  and  live  without  extorted  alms 
From  grudging  hands  ;  but  other  boast  have  none 
To  soothe  their  honest  pride,  that  scorns  to  beg, 
Nor  comfort  else,  but  in  their  mutual  love. 
I  praise  you  much,  ye  weak  and  patient  pair, 
For  ye  are  worthy  ;  choosing  rather  far 
A  dry  but  independent  crust,  hard  earned, 
And  eaten  with  a  sigh,  than  to  endure 
The  rugged  frowns  and  insolent  rebuffs 
Of  knaves  in  office,  partial  in  the  work 
Of  distribution  ;  liberal  of  their  aid 
To  clamorous  Importunity  in  rags, 
But  ofttimes  deaf  to  suppliants,  who  would  blush 
To  wear  a  tattered  garb,  however  coarse, 
Whom  famine  cannot  reconcile  to  filth : 
These  ask  with  painful  shyness,  and,  refused 
Because  deserving,  silently  retire  ! 
But  be  ye  of  good  courage  !     Time  itself 
Shall  much  befriend  you.     Time  shall  give  increase 
And  all  your  numerous  progeny,  well  trained 
But  helpless,  in  few  years  shall  find  their  hands, 
And  labour  too.     Meanwhile  ye  shall  not  want 
What,  conscious  of  your  virtues,  we  can  spare, 
Nor  what  a  wealthier  than  ourselves  may  send. 
I  mean  the  man,  who,  when  the  distant  poor 
Need  help,  denies  them  nothing  but  his  name. 
But  poverty  with  most,  who  whimper  forth 
Their  long  complaints,  is  self-inflicted  wo  ; 
The  effect  of  laziness  or  sottish  waste. 
Now  goes  the  nightly  thief  prowling  abroad 
For  plunder  :  much  solicitous  how  best 
He  may  compensate  for  a  day  of  sloth 
By  works  of  darkness  and  nocturnal  wrong. 
Wo  to  the  gardener's  pale,  the  farmer's  hedge, 
Plashed  neatly,  and  secured  with  driven  stakes 
Deep  in  the  loamy  bank.     Uptorn  by  strength, 


244  THE   TASK 

Resistless  in  so  bad  a  cause,  but  kme 

To  better  deeds,  he  bundles  up  the  spoil, 

An  ass's  burden,  and,  when  laden  most 

And  heaviest,  light  of  foot  steals  fast  away. 

Nor  does  the  boarded  hovel  better  guard 

The  well-stacked  pile  of  riven  logs  and  roots, 

From  his  pernicious  force.     Nor  will  he  leave 

Unwrenched  the  door,  however  well  secured, 

Where  chanticleer  amidst  his  harem  sleeps 

In  unsuspecting  pomp.     Twitched  from  the  perch 

He  gives  the  princely  bird,  with  all  his  wives, 

To  his  voracious  bag,  struggling  in  vain, 

And  loudly  wondering  at  the  sudden  change. 

Nor  this  to  feed  his  own.     'Twere  some  excuse, 

Did  pity  of  their  sufferings  warp  aside 

His  principle,  and  tempt  him  into  sin 

For  their  support,  so  destitute.     But  they 

Neglected  pine  at  home  ;  themselves,  as  more 

Exposed  than  others,  with  less  scruple  made 

His  victims,  robbed  of  their  defenceless  all. 

Cruel  is  all  he  does.     7Tis  quenchless  thirst 

Of  ruinous  ebriety,  that  prompts 

His  every  action,  and  imbrutes  the  man. 

O  for  a  law  to  noose  the  villain's  neck, 

Who  starves  his  own ;  who  persecutes  the  blood 

He  gave  them  in  his  children's  veins,  and  hates 

And  wrongs  the  woman  he  has  sworn  to  love  ! 

Pass  where  we  may,  through  city  or  through  town, 
Village,  or  hamlet,  of  this  merry  land, 
Though  lean  and  beggared,  every  twentieth  pace 
Conducts  the  unguarded  nose  to  such  a  whiff 
Of  stale  debauch,  forth  issuing  from  the  styes 
That  law  has  licensed,  as  makes  temperance  reel. 
There  sit,  involved  and  lost  in  curling  clouds 
Of  Indian  fume,  and  guzzling  deep,  the  boor, 
The  lackey,  and  the  groom  :  The  craftsman  there 
Takes  Lethean  leave  of  all  his  toil ; 
Smith,  cobbler,  joiner,  he  that  plies  the  shears, 


THE  TASK.  245 

And  he  that  kneads  the  dough  ;  all  loud  alike, 

All  learned,  and  all  drunk  !  the  fiddle  screams 

Plaintive  and  piteous,  as  it  wept  and  wailed 

Its  wasted  tones  and  harmony  unheard : 

Fierce  the  dispute  whatever  the  theme ;  while  she, 

Fell  Discord,  arbitress  of  such  debate, 

Perched  on  the  signpost,  holds  with  even  hand 

Her  undecisive  scales.     In  this  she  lays 

A  weight  of  ignorance  ;  in  that,  of  pride  : 

And  smiles  delighted  with  th'  eternal  poise. 

Dire  is  the  frequent  curse,  and  its  twin  sound, 

The  cheek  distending  oath,  not  to  be  praised 

As  ornamental,  musical,  polite, 

Like  those  which  modern  senators  employ, 

Whose  oath  is  rhetoric,  and  who  swear  for  fame ! 

Behold  the  schools  in  which  plebeian  minds, 

Once  simple,  are  initiated  in  arts 

Which  some  may  practise  with  politer  grace, 

But  none  with  readier  skill ! — 'tis  here  they  learn 

The  road,  that  leads  from  competence  and  peace 

To  indigence  and  rapine  ;  till  at  last 

Society,  grown  weary  of  the  load, 

Shakes  her  encumbered  lap,  and  casts  them  out. 

But  censure  profits  little  :  vain  th'  attempt, 

To  advertise  in  verse  a  public  pest, 

That,  like  the  filth  with  which  the  peasant  feeds 

His  hungry  acres,  stinks,  and  is  of  use. 

Th'  excise  is  fattened  with  the  rich  result 

Of  all  this  riot ;  and  ten  thousand  casks, 

For  ever  dribbling  out  their  base  contents, 

Touched  by  the  Midas  finger  of  the  state, 

Bleed  gold  for  ministers  to  sport  away. 

Drink,  and  be  mad  then  ;  'tis  your  country  bids  ! 

Gloriously  drunk  obey  th'  important  call  ! 

Her  cause  demands  th'  assistance  of  your  throats 

Ye  all  can  swallow,  and  she  asks  no  more. 

Would  I  had  fallen  upon  those  happier  days, 
'That  poet's  celebrate  ;  those  golden  times, 

21* 


246  THE   TASK. 

And  those  Arcadian  scenes  that  Maro  sings, 
-And  Sydney,  warbler  of  poetic  prose. 
Nymphs  were  Dianas  then,  and  swains  had  hearts 
That  felt  their  virtues :  Innocence,  it  seems, 
From  courts  dismissed,  found  shelter  in  the  groves ; 
The  footsteps  of  Simplicity,  impressed 
Upon  the  yielding  herbage,  (so  they  sing 
Then  were  not  all  effaced  :  then  speech  profane, 
And  manners  profligate,  were  rarely  found, 
Observed  as  prodigies,  and  soon  reclaimed. 
Vain  wish  !  those  days  were  never  :  airy  dreams 
Sat  for  the  picture :  and  the  poet's  hand, 
Imparting  substance  to  an  empty  shade, 
Imposed  a  gay  delirium  for  a  truth. 
Grant  it :  I  still  must  envy  them  an  age, 
That  favoured  sucli  a  dream ;  in  days  like  these 
Impossible,  when  virtue  is  so  scarce, 
That  to  suppose  a  scene  where  she  presides, 
Is  tramontane,  and  stumbles  all  belief. 
No  :  we  are  polished  now.     The  rural  lass 
Whom  once  her  virgin  modesty  and  grace, 
Her  artless  manners,  and  her  neat  attire, 
So  dignified,  that  she  was  hardly  less 
Than  the  fair  shepherdess  of  old  romance, 
Is  seen  no  more.     The  character  is  lost ! 
Her  head,  adorned  with  lappets  pinned  aloft, 
And  ribands  streaming  gay,  superbly  raised, 
And  magnified  beyond  all  human  size, 
Indebted  to  some  smart  wig-weaver's  hand 
For  more  than  half  the  tresses  it  sustains  ; 
Her  elbows  ruffled  and  her  tottering  frame 
Ill-propped  upon  French  heels  ;  she  might  be  deemed 
(But  that  the  basket  dangling  on  her  arm 
Interprets  her  more  truly)  of  a  rank 
Too  proud  for  dairy-work,  or  sale  of  eggs. 
Expect  her  soon  with  footboy  at  her  heels, 
No  longer  blushing  for  her  awkward  load,  ^ 

Her  train  and  her  umbrella  all  her  care  ! 


THE    TASK.  247 

The  town  has  tinged  the  country ;  and  the  state 
Appears  a  spot  upon  a  vestal's  robe, 
The  worse  for  what  it  soils.     The  fashion  runs 
Down  into  scenes  still  rural ;  but,  alas, 
Scenes  rarely  graced  with  rural  manners  now  ! 
Time  was  when  in  the  pastoral  retreat 
Th'  unguarded  door  was  safe  ;  men  did  not  watch 
T'  invade  another's  right,  or  guard  their  own. 
Then  sleep  was  undisturbed  by  fear,  unscared 
By  drunken  howlings  ;  and  the  chilling  tale 
Of  midnight  murder  was  a  wonder  heard 
With  doubtful  credit,  told  to  frighten  babes 
But  farewell  now  to  unsuspicious  nights, 
And  slumbers  unalarmed  !     Now,  ere  you  sleep 
See  that  your  polished  arms  be  primed  with  care, 
And  dropt  the  nightbolt ;  ruffians  are  abroad, 
And  the  first  larum  of  the  cock's  shrill  throat 
May  prove  a  trumpet,  summoning  your  ear 
To  horrid  sounds  of  hostile  feet  within. 
E'en  daylight  has  its  dangers  ;  and  the  walk 
Through  pathless  wastes  and  woods,    unconscious 

once 

Of  other  tenants  than  melodious  birds, 
Or  harmless  flocks,  is  hazardous  and  bold. 
Lamented  change  !  to  which  full  many  a  cause 
Inveterate,  hopeless  of  a  cure,  conspires. 
The  course  of  human  things  from  good  to  ill 
From  ill  to  worse,  is  fatal,  never  fails. 
Increase  of  power  begets  increase  of  wealth, 
Wealth  luxury,  and  luxury  excess ; 
Excess  the  scrofulous  and  itchy  plague, 
That  seizes  first  the  opulent,  descends 
To  the  next  rank  contagious,  and  in  time 
Taints  downward  all  the  graduated  scale 
Of  order,  from  the  chariot  to  the  plough. 
The  rich,  and  they  that  have  an  arm  to  check 
The  license  of  the  lowest  in  degree, 
Desert  their  office  ;  and  themselves,  intent 


248  THE  TASK. 

On  pleasure,  haunt  the  capital,  and  thus 

To  all  the  violence  of  lawless  hands 

Resign  the  scenes  their  presence  might  protect. 

Authority  herself  not  seldom  sleeps, 

Though  resident,  and  witness  of  the  wrong. 

The  plump  convivial  parson  often  bears 

The  magisterial  sword  in  vain,  and  lays 

His  reverence  and  his  worship  both  to  rest 

On  the  same  cushion  of  habitual  sloth, 

Perhaps  timidity  restrains  his  arm ; 

When  he  should  strike  he  trembles,  and  sets  free, 

Himself  enslaved  by  terror  of  the  band, 

Th'  audacious  convict  whom  he  dares  not  bind. 

Perhaps,  though  by  profession  ghostly  pure, 

He  too  may  have  his  vice,  and  sometimes  prove 

Less  dainty  than  becomes  his  grave  outside 

In  lucrative  concerns.     Examine  well 

His  milkwhite  hand  ;  the  palrn  is  hardly  clean — 

But  here  and  there  an  ugly  smutch  appears. 

Foh  '  'twas  a  bribe  that  left  it:  he  has  touched 

Corruption.     Whoso  seeks  an  audit  here 

Propitious,  pays  his  tribute,  game  or  fish, 

Wild  fowl  or  venison  ;  and  his  errand  speeds. 

But  faster  far,  and  more  than  all  the  rest, 
A  noble  cause,  which  none,  who  bears  a  spark 
Of  public  virtue,  ever  wished  removed, 
Works  the  deplored  and  mischievous  effect. 
'Tis  universal  soldiership  has  stabbed 
The  heart  o    merit  in  the  meaner  class. 
Arms,  through  the  vanity  and  brainless  rage 
Of  those  that  bear  them,  in  whatever  cause, 
Seem  most  at  variance  with  all  moral  good. 
And  incompatible  with  serious  thought. 
The  clown,  the  child  of  nature,  without  guile. 
Blest  with  an  infant's  ignorance,  of  all 
But  his  own  simple  pleasures  ;  now  and  then 
A  wrestling  match,  a  foot-race,  or  a  air  ; 
Is  balloted,  and  trembles  at  the  news : 


THE  TASK  249 

Sheepish  he  doffs  his  hat,  and  mumbling  swears 

A  Bible  oath  to  be  whatever  they  please, 

To  do  he  knows  not  what.     The  task  performed 

That  instant  he  becomes  the  sergeant's  care, 

His  pupil,  and  his  torment,  and  his  jest, 

His  awkward  gait,  his  introverted  toes, 

Bent  knees,  round  shoulders,  and  dejected  looks, 

Procure  him  many  a  curse.     By  slow  degrees, 

Unapt  to  learn,  and  formed  of  stubborn  stuff, 

He  yet  by  slow  degrees  puts  off  himself, 

Grows  conscious  of  a  change,  and  likes  it  well , 

He  stands  erect ;  his  slouch  becomes  a  walk  ; 

He  steps  right  onward,  martial  in  his  air, 

His  form,  and  movement ;  is  as  smart  above 

As  meal  and  larded  locks  can  make  him ;  wears  W  ( 

His  hat,  or  his  plumed  helmet,  with  a  grace  ; 

And,  his  three  years  of  heroship  expired, 

Returns  indignant  to  the  slighted  plough. 

He  hates  the  field,  in  which'rio  life  or  drum 

Attends  him ;  drives  his  cattle  to  a  march  ; 

And  sighs  for  the  smart  comrades  he  has  left. 

'Twere  well  if  his  exterior  change  were  all-— 

But  with  his  clumsy  port  the  wretch  has  lost 

His  ignorance  and  harmless  manners  too. 

To  swear,  to  game,  to  drink  ;  to  show  at  home 

By  lewdness,  idleness,  and  sabbath-breach, 

The  great  proficiency  he  made  abroad ; 

T'  astonish  and  to  grieve  his  gazing  friends, 

To  break  some  maiden's  and  his  mother's  heart 

To  be  a  pest  where  he  was  useful  once  ; 

Are  his  sole  aim,  and  all  his  glory,  now. 

Man  in  society  is  like  a  flower 
Blown  in  its  native  bed :  'tis  there  alone 
His  faculties,  expanded  in  full  bloom, 
Shine  out ;  there  only  reach  their  proper  use. 
But  man,  associated  and  leagued  with  man 
By  regal  warrant,  or  self-joined  by  bond 
Kor  interest  sake  or  swarming  into  clans 


^50  -  THE  TASK. 

Beneath  one  head,  for  purposes  of  war, 

Like  flowers  selected  from  the  rest,  and  bound 

And  bundled  close  to  fill  some  crowded  vase, 

Fades  rapidly,  and  by  compression  marred, 

Contracts  defilement  not  to  be  endured. 

Hence  chartered  boroughs  are  such  public  plagues  ; 

And  burghers,  men  immaculate  perhaps 

In  all  their  private  functions,  once  combined, 

Become  a  loathsome  body,  only  fit 

For  dissolution,  hurtful  to  the  main. 

Hence  merchants,  unimpeachable  of  sin 

Against  the  charities  of  domestic  life, 

Incorporated,  seem  at  once  to  lose 

Their  nature  ;  and,  disclaiming  all  regard 

For  mercy  and  the  common  rights  of  man, 

Build  factories  with  blood,  conducting  trade 

At  the  sword's  point,  and  dying  the  white  roba 

Of  innocent  commercial  Justice  red. 

Hence  too  the  field  of  glory,  as  the  world 

Misdeems  it,  dazzled  by  its  bright  array, 

With  all  its  majesty  of  thundering  pomp, 

Enchanting  music  and  immortal  wreaths, 

Is  but  a  school,  where  thoughtlessness  is  taught 

On  principle,  where  foppery  atones 

For  folly,  gallantry  for  every  vice. 

But  slighted  as  it  is,  and  by  the  great 
Abandoned,  and,  which  still  I  more  regret, 
Infected  with  the  manners  and  the  modes 
It  knew  not  once,  the  country  wins  me  still. 
I  never  framed  a  wish,  or  formed  a  plan, 
That  flattered  me  with  hopes  of  earthly  bliss, 
But  there  I  laid  the  scene.     There  early  strayed 
My  fancy,  ere  yet  liberty  of  choice 
Had  found  me,  or  the  hope  of  being  free. 
My  very  dreams  were  rural ;  rural  too 
The  first-born  efforts  of  my  youthful  muse, 
Sportive  and  jingling  her  poetic  bells, 
Ere  yet  her  ear  was  mistress  of  their  powers. 


THE  TASK.  251 

No  bard  could  please  me  but  whose  lyre  was  tuned 

To  Nature's  praises.     Heroes  and  their  feats 

Fatigued  me,  never  weary  of  the  pipe 

Of  Tityrus,  assembling,  as  he  sang, 

The  rustic  throng  beneath  his  favourite  beech. 

Then  Milton  had  indeed  a  poet's  charms  : 

New  to  my  taste  his  Paradise  surpassed 

The  struggling  efforts  of  my  boyish  tongue 

To  speak  its  excellence.     I  danced  for  joy. 

I  marvelled  much  that  at  so  ripe  an  age 

As  twice  seven  years,  his  beauties  had  then  first 

Engaged  my  wonder ;  and  admiring  still, 

And  still  admiring,  with  regret  supposed 

The  joy  half  lost,  because  not  sooner  found. 

There  too,  enamoured  of  the  life  I'loved, 

Pathetic  in  its  praise,  in  its  pursuit 

Determined,  and  possessing  it  at  last 

With  transports,  such  as  favoured  lovers  leel, 

I  studied,  prized,  and  wished  that  I  had  known 

Ingenious  Cowley  !  and,  though  now  reclaimed 

By  modern  lights  from  an  erroneous  taste, 

I  cannot  but  fament  thy  splendid  wit 

Entangled  in  the  cobwebs  of  the  schools. 

I  still  revere  thee.  courtly  though  retired  ! 

Though  stretched  at  ease  in  Chertsey's  silent  bowers, 

Not  unemployed ;  and  finding  rich  amends 

For  a  lost  world  in  solitude  and  verse. 

'Tis  born  with  all :  the  love  of  Nature's  works 

Is  an  ingredient  in  the  compound  man 

Infused  at  the  creation  of  the  kind. 

And,  though  th'  Almighty  Maker  has  throughout 

Discriminated  each  from  each,  by  strokes 

And  touches  of  his  hand,  with  so  much  art 

Diversified,  that  two  were  never  found 

Twins  at  all  points-  -yet  this  obtains  in  all, 

That  all  discern  a  beauty  in  his  works, 

And  all  can  taste  them :  minds  that  have  been  formed 

And  tutored  with  a  relish  more  exact, 


252  THE    TASK. 

But  none  without  some  relish,  none  unmoved. 

it  is  a  flame,  that  dies  not  even  there, 

Where  nothing  feeds  it :  neither  business,  crowds, 

Nor  habits  of  luxurious  city  life, 

Whatever  else  they  smother  of  true  worth 

In  human  bosoms,  quench  it  or  abate. 

The  villas  with  which  London  stands  begirt, 

Like  a  swarth  Indian,  with  his  belt  of  beads, 

Prove  it.     A  breath  of  unadulterate  air. 

The  glimpse  of  a  green  pasture,  how  they  cheer 

The  citizen,  and  brace  his  languid  frame  ! 

E'en  in  the  stifling  bosom  of  the  town, 

A  garden,  in  which  nothing  thrives,  has  charms 

That  soothe  the  rich  possessor ;  much  consoled, 

That  here  and  there  some  sprigs  of  mournful  mint, 

Of  nightshade,  or  valerian,  grace  the  well 

He  cultivates.     These  serve  him  with  a  hint, 

That  nature  lives  ;  that  sight-refreshing  green 

Is  still  the  livery  she  delights  to  wear, 

Though  sickly  samples  of  th7  exuberant  whole 

What  are  the  casements  lined  with  creeping  herbs, 

The  prouder  sashes  fronted  with  a  range 

Of  orange,  myrtle,  or  the  fragrant  weed, 

The  Frenchman's  darling?*  are  they  not  all  proofs 

That  man,  immured  in  cities,  still  retains 

His  inborn  inextinguishable  thirst 

Of  rural  scenes,  compensating  his  loss 

By  supplemental  shifts,  the  best  he  may? 

The  most  unfurnished  with  the  means  of  life, 

And  they  that  never  pass  their  brick-wall  bounds, 

To  range  the  fields,  and  treat  their  lungs  with  air, 

Yet  feel  the  burning  instinct :  over  head 

Suspend  their  crazy  boxes,  planted  thick 

And  watered  duly.     There  the  pitcher  stands 

A  fragment,  and  the  spoutless  tea-pot  there ; 

Sad  witnesses  how  close-pent  man  regrets 

The  country,  with  what  ardour  he  contrives 

*  Million  net  te. 


THE   TASK.  25o 

A  peep  at  Nature,  when  he  can  no  more. 

Hail,  therefore,  patroness  of  health  and  ease, 
And  contemplation,  heart  consoling  joys, 
And  harmless  pleasures,  in  the  thronged  abode 
Of  multitudes  unknown  ;  hail,  rural  life  ! 
Address  himself,  who  will  to  the  pursuit 
Of  honours,  or  emolument,  or  fame ; 
I  shall  not  add  myself  to  such  a  chase, 
Thwart  his  attempts,  or  envy  his  success. 
Some  must  be  great.     Great  offices  will  have 
Great  talents.     And  God  gives  to  every  man 
The  virtue,  tejnper,  understanding,  taste, 
"That  lifts  him  into  life,  and  lets  him  fall 
[  Just  in  the  niche  he  was  ordained  to  fill. 
To  the  deliverer  of  an  injured  land 
He  gives  a  tongue  t'  enlarge  upon,  a  heart 
To  feel,  and  courage  to  redress  her  wrongs ; 
To  monarchs  dignity  ;  to  judges  sense  ; 
To  artists  ingenuity  and  skill ; 
To  me,  an  unambitious  mind,  content 
In  the  low  vale  of  life,  that  early  felt 
A  wish  for  ease  and  leisure,  and  ere  long 
Found  here  that  leisure,  and  that  ease  I  wished. 


THE   TASK. 


THE    TASK. 

BOOK    V. 

THE  WINTER  MORNING  WALK. 

ARGUMENT. 

A  FROSTY  morning. — The  foddering  of  cattle. — The  woodman  and  his 
dog.— The  poultry. — Whimsical  effects  of  frost  at  a  waterfall. — The  em- 
press of  Russia's  palace  of  ice. — Amusements  of  monarchs.— War,  one 
of  them. — Wars,  whence. — And  whence  monarchy. — The  evils  of  it.— 
English  and  French  loyalty  contrasted. — The  Bastile,  and  a  prisoner 
there. — Liberty  the  chief  recommendation  of  this  country. — Modern  pa- 
triotism questionable,  and  why. — The  perishable  nafiire  of  the  best  hu- 
man institutions. — Spiritual  liberty  not  perishable. — The  slavibh  state  of 
man  by  nature. — Deliver  him,  Deist,  if- you  can. — Grace  must  do  it. — 
The  respective  merits  of  patriots  and  martyrs  stated. — Their  different 
treatment.— Happy  freedom  of  the  man  whom  grace  makes  free. — Hi» 
relish  of  the  works  of  God. — Address  to  the  Creator. 

'Tis  morning ;  and  the  sun,  with  ruddy  orb 
Ascending,  fires  th'  horizon ;  while  the  clouds, 
That  crowd  away  before  the  driving  wind, 
More  ardent  as  the  disk  emerges  more, 
Resemble  most  some  city  in  a  blaze, 
Seen  through  the  leafless  wood.     His  slanting  ray 
Slides  ineffectual  down  the  snowy  vale, 
And,  tinging  all  with  his  own  rosy  hue, 
From  every  herb  and  every  spiry  blade 
Stretches  a  length  of  shadow  o?er  the  field. 
Mine,  spindling  into  longitude  immense, 
In  spite  of  gravity,  and  sage  remark 
That  I  myself  am  but  a  fleeting  shade, 
Provokes  me  to  a  smile.     With  eye  askance 
I  view  the  muscular  proportioned  limb 
Transformed  to  a  lean  shank.     The  shapeless  pair, 
As  they  designed  to  mock  me,  at  my  side 
Take  step  for  step  ;  and,  as  I  near  approach 
The  cottage,  walk  along  the  plastered  wall, 
Preposterous  sight !  the  legs  without  the  man. 
The  verdure  of  the  plain  ties  buried  deep 
Beneath  the  dazzling  deluge  :  and  the  bents, 


THE  TASK.  &> 

And  coarser  grass,  unspearing  o'er  the  rest, 
Of  late  unsightly  and  unseen,  now  shine 
Conspicuous,  and  in  bright  apparel  clad, 
And,  fledged  with  icy  feathers,  not  superb. 
The  cattle  mourn  in  corners,  where  the  fence 
Screens  them,  and  seern  half  petrified  to  sleep 
In  unrecumbent  sadness.     There  they  wait 
Their  wonted  fodder ;  not  like  hungering  man, 
Fretful  if  unsupplied  ;  but  silent,  meek, 
And  patient  of  the  slow-paced  swain's  delay. 
He  from  the  stack  carves  out  th'  accustomed  load 
Deep-plunging,  and  again  deep-plunging  oft, 
His  broad  keen  knife  into  the  solid  mass ; 
Smooth  as  a  wall  the  upright  remnant  stands, 
With  such  undeviating  and  even  force 
He  severs  it  away  :  no  needless  care, 
Lest  storms  should  overset  the  leaning  pile 
Deciduous,  or  its  own  unbalanced  weight. 
Forth  goes  the  woodman,  leaving  unconcerned 
The  cheerful  haunts  of  man  ;  to  wield  the  axe, 
And  drive  the  wedge  in  yonder  forest  drear, 
From  morn  to  eve  his  solitary  task. 
Shaggy,  and  lean,  and  shrewd,  with  pointed  ears, 
And  tail  cropped  short,  half  lurcher  and  half  cur 
His  dog  attends  him.     Close  behind  his  heel 
Now  creeps  he  slow;  and,  now  with  many  a  frisk 
Wide-scampering,  snatches  up  the  drifted  snow 
With  ivory  teeth,  or  ploughs  it  with  his  snout ; 
Then  shakes  his  powderod  coat,  and  barks  for  joy. 
Heedless  of  all  his  pranks,  the  sturdy  churl 
Moves  right  toward  the  mark ;  nor  stops  for  aught 
But  now  and  then  with  pressure  of  his  thumb 
T'  adjust  the  fragrant  charge  of  a  short  tube, 
That  fumes  beneath  his  nose  ;  the  trailing  cloud 
Streams  far  behind  him,  scenting  all  the  air. 
Now  from  the  roots,  or  from  the  neighbouring  pale, 
Where,  diligent  to  catch  the  first  faint  gleam 
Of  s  niling  ciay,  they  gossip\l  side  by  side 


256  THE  TASK. 

Come  trooping  at  the  housewife's  well-known  call, 

The  feathered  tribes  domestic.     Half  on  wing, 

And  half  on  foot,  they  brush  the  fleecy  flood, 

Conscious  and  fearful  of  too  deep  a  plunge. 

The  sparrows  peep,  and  quit  the  sheltering  eaves, 

To  seize  the  fair  occasion  :  well  they  eye 

The  scattered  grain,  and  thievishly  resolved 

T'  escape  th'  impending  famine,  often  scared, 

As  oft  return,  a  pert  voracious  kind. 

Clean  riddance  quickly  made,  one  only  care 

Remains  to  each,  the  search  of  sunny  nook, 

Or  shed  impervious  to  the  blast.     Resigned 

To  sad  necessity,  the  cock  foregoes 

His  wonted  strut ;  and  wading  at  their  head 

With  well-considered  steps,  seems  to  resent 

His  altered  gait  and  stateiiness  retrenched. 

How  find  the  myriads,  that  in  summer  cheer 

The  hills  and  valleys  with  their  ceaseless  songs, 

Due  sustenance,  or  where  subsist  they  now  ? 

Earth  yields  them  naught  •  th'  imprisoned  worm  i? 

safe 

Beneath  the  frozen  clod ;  all  seeds  of  herbs 
Lie  covered  close  ;  and  berry-bearing  thorns, 
That  feed  the  thrush,  (whatever  some  suppose) 
Afford  the  smaller  minstrels  no  supply. 
Th'  long  protracted  rigour  of  the  year 
Thins    all  their  numerous   flocks.     In  chinks  and 

holes 

Ten  thousand  seek  an  unmolested  end, 
As  instinct  prompts  ;  self-buried  ere  they  die. 
The  very  rooks  and  daws  forsake  the  fields, 
Where  neither  grub,  nor  root,  nor  earth-nut,  now 
Repays  their  labour  more  ;  and  perched  aloft 
By  the  wayside,  or  stalking  in  the  path, 
Lean  pensioners  upon  the  traveller's  track, 
Pick  up  their  nauseous  dole,  though  sweet  to  them, 
Of  voided  pulse  or  half-digested  grain. 
The  streams  are  lost  amid  the  splendid  blank, 


THE    TASK.  257 

Overwhelming  all  distinction.     On  the  flood, 
Indurated  and  fixed,  {he  snowy  weight 
Lies  undissolved  ;  while  silently  beneath, 
And  unperceived,  the  ciwrent  steals  away. 
Not  so  where,  scornful  of  a  check,  it  leaps 
The  mill-dam,  dashes  on  the  restless  wheel, 
And  wantons  in  the  pebbly  gulf  below : 
No  frost  can  bind  it  there  ;  its  utmost  force 
Can  but  arrest  the  light  and  smoky  mist, 
That  in  its  fall  the  liquid  sheet  throws  wide. 
And  see  where  it  has  hung  the  embroidered  banks 
With  forms  so  various,  that  no  powers  of  art, 
The  pencil  or  the  pen,  may  trace  the  scene  ! 
Here  glittering  turrets  rise,  upbearing  high 
(Fantastic  misarrangement !)  on  the  roof 
Large  growth  of  what  may  seem  the  sparkling  trees 
And  shrubs  of  fairy  land.     The  crystal  drops, 
That  trickle  down  the  branches,  fast  congealed, 
Shoot  into  pillars  of  pellucid  length, 
And  prop  the  pile  they  but  adorned  before. 
Here  grotto  within  grotto  safe  defies 
The  sunbeam ;  there,  embossed  and  fretted  wild, 
The  growing  wonder  takes  a  thousand  shapes 
Capricious,  in  which  fancy  seeks  in  vain 
The  likeness  of  some  object  seen  before. 
Thus  Nature  works  as  if  to  mock  at  .Art, 
And  in  defiance  of  her  rival  powers  ; 
By  these  fortuitous  and  random  strokes 
Performing  such  inimitable  feats, 
As  she  with  all  her  rules  can  never  reach. 
Less  worthy  of  applause,  though  more  admired, 
Because  a  novelty,  the  work  of  man, 
Imperial  mistress  of  the  fur-clad  Russ, 
Thy  most  magnificent  and  mighty  freak, 
The  wonder  of  the  North.     No  forest  fell, 
When  thou  \rouldst  build  ;  no  quarry  sent  his  stores 
T'  enrich  thy  walls :  but  thou  didst  hew  the  floods 
And  make  thy  marble  of  the  glassy  wave. 
22* 


258  THE    TASK. 

In  such  a  palace  Aristseus  found 

Gyrene,  when  he  bore  the  plaintiff  tale 

Of  his  lost  bees  to  her  maternal  ear  ; 

In  such  a  palace  Poetry  might  place 

The  armory  of  Winter  ;  where  his  troops, 

The  gloomy  clouds,  find  weapons,  arrowy  sleet, 

Skin-piercing  volley,  blossom-bruising  hail, 

And  snow,  that  often  blinds  the  traveller's  course, 

And  wraps  him  in  an  unexpected  tomb. 

Silently  as  a  dream  the  fabric  rose ; 

No  sound  of  hammer  or  of  saw  was  there : 

Ice  upon  ice,  the  well-adjusted  parts 

Were  soon  conjoined,  nor  other  cement  asked 

Than  water  interfused  to  make  them  one. 

Lamps  gracefully  disposed,  and  of  all  hues, 

Illumined  every  side  :  a  watery  light 

Gleamed  through  the  clear  transparency,  that  seemed 

Another  moon  new  risen,  or  meteor  fallen 

From  Heaven  to  Earth,  of  lambent  flame  serene. 

So  stood  the  brittle  prodigy ;  though  smooth 

And  slippery  the  materials,  yet  frost-bound 

Firm  as  a  rock.     Nor  wanted  aught  within. 

That  royal  residence  might  well  befit, 

For  grandeur  or  for  use.     Long  wavy  wreaths 

Of  flowers  that  feared  no  enemy  but  warmth, 

Blushed  on  the  pannels.     Mirror  needed  none 

Where  all  was  vitreous  ;  but  in  order  due 

Convivial  table  and  commodious  seat 

(What  seemed  at  least  commodious  seat)  were  there; 

Sofa,  and  couch,  and  high-built  throne  august, 

The  same  lubricity  was  found  in  all. 

And  all  was  moist  to  the  warm  touch  ;  a  scene 

Of  evanescent  glory,  once  a  stream, 

And  soon  to  slide  into  a  stream  again. 

Alas  !  'twas  but  a  mortifying  stroke 

Of  undeserved  severity  that  glanced 

(Made  by  a  monarch)  on  her  own  estate, 

On  human  grandeur  and  the  courts  of  kings 


THE  TASK.  259 

'Twas  transient  in  its  nature,  as  in  show 
'Twas  durable  ;  as  worthless  as  it  seemed 
Intrinsically  precious  ;  to  the  foot 
Treacherous  and  false ;  it  smiled,  and  it  was  cold 
Great  princes  have  great  playthings.     Some  have 

played 

At  hewing  mountains  into  men,  and  some 
At  building  human  wonders  mountain  high. 
Some  have  amused  the  dull,  sad  years  of  life, 
(Life  spent  in  indolence,  and  therefore  sad) 
With  schemes  of  monumental  fame ;  and  sought 
By  pyramids  and  mausoleum  pomp, 
Short -lived  themselves,  t'  immortalize  their  bones. 
Some  seek  diversion  in  the  tented  field, 
And  make  the  sorrows  of  mankind  their  sport* 
But  war's  a  game,  which,  were  their  subjects  wise, 
Kings  would  not  play  at.     Nations  would  do  well 
T"  extort  their  truncheons  from  the  puny  hands 
Of  heroes,  whose  infirm  and  baby  minds 
Are  gratified  with  mischief;  and  who  sport, 
Because  men  suffer  it,  their  toy  the  world. 

When  Babel  was  confounded,  and  the  great 
Confederacy  of  projectors  wild  and  vain 
Was  split  into  diversity  of  tongues, 
Then,  as  a  shepherd  separates'his  flock, 
These  to  the  upland,  to  the  valley  those, 
God  drave  asunder,  and  assigned  their  lot 
To  all  the  nations.     Ample  was  the  boon 
He  gave  them,  in  his  distribution  fair 
And  equal ;  and  he  bade  them  dwell  in  peace. 
Peace  was  awhile  their    care:  they  ploughed  and 

sowed, 

And  reaped  their  plenty  without  grudge  or  strife. 
But  violence  can  never  longer  sleep, 
Than  human  passions  please.     In  every  heart 
Are  sown  the  sparks  that  kindle  fiery  war : 
Occasion  needs  but  fan  them,  and  they  blaze. 
Cain  had  already  shed  a  brother's  blood : 


260  THE  TASK. 

The  deluge  washed  it  out ;  but  left  unquenched 

The  seeds  of  murder  in  the  breast  of  man. 

Soon  by  a- righteous  judgment  in  the  line 

Of  his  descending  progeny  was  found 

The  first  artificer  of  death  ;  the  shrewd 

Contriver,  who  first  sweated  at  the  forge, 

And  forced  the  blunt  and  yet  unbloodied  steel 

To  a  keen  edge,  and  made  it  bright  for  war. 

Him  Tubal  named,  the  Vulcan  of  old  times, 

The  sword  and  falchion  their  inventor  claim ; 

And  the  first  smith  was  the  first  murderer's  son. 

His  art  survived  the  waters  ;  and  ere  long, 

When  man  was  multiplied  and  spread  abroad 

In  tribes  and  clans,  and  had  begun  to  call 

These  meadows,  and  that  range  of  hills  his  own, 

The  tasted  sweets  of  property  begat 

Desire  of  more,  and  industry  in  some, 

T?  improve  and  cultivate  their  just  demesne, 

Made  others  covet  what  they  saw  so  fair. 

Thus  war* began  on  earth  :  these  fought  for  spoil, 

And  those  in  self-defence.     Savage  at  first 

The  onset,  and  irregular.     At  length 

One  eminent  above  the  rest  for  strength, 

For  stratagem,  for  courage,  or  for  all, 

Was  chosen  leader ;  him  they  served  in  war, 

And  him  in  peace,  for  sake  of  warlike  deeds 

Reverenced  no  less.     Who  could  with  him  compare  f 

Or  who  so  worthy  to  control  themselves, 

As  he,  whose  prowess  had  subdued  their  foes  ? 

Thus  war,  affording  field  for  the  display 

Of  virtue,  made  one  chief,  whom  times  df  peace 

Which  have  their  exigences  too,  and  call 

For  skill  in  government,  at  length  made  king. 

King  was  a  name  too  proud  for  man  to  wear 

With  modesty  and  meekness  ;  and  the  crown, 

So  dazzling  in  their  eyes,  who  set  it  on, 

Was  sure  t?  intoxicate  the  brows  it  bound 

It  is  the  abject  property  of  most, 


THE   TASK.  201 

That,  being  parcel  of  the  common  mass, 
Arid  destitute  of  means  to  raise  themselves, 
They  sink,  and  settle  lower  than  they  need. 
They  know  not  what  it  is  to  feel  within 
A  comprehensive  faculty,  that  grasps 
Great  purposes  with  ease,  that  turns  and  wields, 
Almost  without  an  effort,  plans  too  vast 
For  their  conception,  which  they  cannot  move. 
Conscious  of  impotence  they  soon  grow  drunk 
With  gazing,  when  they  see  an  able  man 
Step  forth  to  notice  :  and,  besotted  thus, 
Build  him  a  pedestal,  and  say,  "  Stand  there, 
And  be  our  admiration  and  our  praise." 
They  roll  themselves  before  him  in  the  dust, 
Then  most  deserving,  in  their  own  account, 
When  most  extravagant  in  his  applause, 
As  if  exalting  him  they  raised  themselves. 
Thus  by  degrees,  self-cheated  of  their  sound 
And  sober  judgment,  that  he  is  but  man, 
They  demi-deify  and  fume  him  so, 
That  in  due  season  he  forgets  it  too. 
Inflated  and  astrut  with  self-conceit, 
He  gulphs  the  windy  diet ;  and  ere  long, 
Adopting  their  mistake,  profoundly  thinks 
The  world  was  made  in  vain,  if  not  for  him. 
Thenceforth  they  are  his  cattle  ;  drudges,  born 
To  bear  his  burdens,  drawing  in  his  gears, 
And  sweating  in  his  service,  his  caprice 
Becomes  the  soul  that  animates  them  all. 
He  deems  a  thousand,  or  ten  thousand,  lives, 
Spent  in  the  purchase  of  renown  for  him, 
An  easy  reckoning  ;  and  they  think  the  same. 
'  Thus  kings  were  first  invented,  and  thus  kings 
Were  burnished  into  heroes,  and  became 
Th*1  arbiters  of  this  terraqueous  swamp  ; 
Storks  among  frogs,  that  have  but  croaked  and  died. 
Strange,  that  such  folly  as  lifts  bloated  man 
To  eminence  fit  only  for  a  god, 


262  THE  TASK. 

Should  ever  drivel  out  of  human  lips, 
E'en  in  the  cradled  weakness  of  the  world  ! 
Still  stranger  much,  that  when  at  length  mankind 
Had  reached  the  sinewy  firmness  of  their  youth, 
And  could  discriminate  and  argue  well 
On  subjects  more  mysterious,  they  were  yet 
Babes  in  the  cause  of  freedom,  arid  should  fear 
And  quake  before  the  gods  themselves  had  made  ; 
But  above  measure  strange,  that  neither  proof 
Of  sad  experience,  nor  example  set 
By  some,  whose  patriot  virtue  has  prevailed, 
Can  even  now,  when  they  are  grown  mature 
In  wisdom,  and  with  philosophic  deeds 
Familiar,  serve  t'  emancipate  the  rest ! 
Such  dupes  are  men  to  custom,  and  so  prone 
To  reverence  what  is  ancient,  and  can  plead 
A  course  of  long  observance  for  its  use, 
That  even  servitude,  the  worst  of  ills, 
Because  delivered  down  from  sire  to  son, 
Is  kept  and  guarded  as  a  sacred  thing. 
But  is  it  fit,  or  can  it  bear  the  shock 
Of  rational  discussion,  that  a  man, 
Compounded  and  made  up  like  other  men 
Of  elements  tumultuous,  in  whom  lust 
And  folly  in  as  ample  measure  meet, 
As  in  the  bosoms  of  the  slaves  he  rules, 
Should  be  a  despot  absolute,  and  boast 
Himself  the  only  freeman  of  his  land  ? 
Should,  when  he  pleases,  and  on  whom  he  will, 
Wage  war,  with  any  or  with  no  pretence 
Of  provocation  given,  or  wrong  sustained, 
And  force  the  beggarly  last  doit  by  means 
That  his  own  humour  dictates,  from  the  clutch 
Of  Poverty,  that  thus  he  may  procure 
His  thousands,  weary  of  penurious  life, 
A  splendid  opportunity  to  die  ? 
Say  ye,  who  (with  less  prudence  than  of  old 
Jotham  ascribed  to  his  assembling  trees 


THE   TASK.  2 

Li  politic  convention)  put  your  trust 

V  thj  shadow  of  a  bramble,  and  reclined 

In  fancied  peace  beneath  his  dangerous  branch 

Rejoice  in  him  ;  and  celebrate  his  sway, 

Where  find  ye  passive  fortitude  ?     Whence  spring 

Your  self-denying  zeal,  that  holds  it  good, 

To  stroke  the  prickly  grievance,  and  to  hang 

His  thorns  with  streamers  of  continual  praise  ? 

We  too  are  friends  to  loyalty.     We  love 

The  king  who  loves  the  law,  respects  his  bounds 

And  reigns  content  within  them :  him  we  serve 

Freely  and  with  delight,  who  leaves  us  free : 

But  recollecting  still,  that  he  is  man, 

We  trust  him  not  too  far.     King  though  he  be, 

And  king  in  England  too,  he  may  be  weak, 

And  vain  enough  to  be  ambitious  still ; 

May  exercise  amiss  his  proper  powers, 

Or  covet  more  than  freemen  choose  to  grant : 

Beyond  that  mark  is  treason.     He  is  ours, 

T'  administer,  to  guard,  t'  adorn  the  state, 

But  not  to  warp  or  change  it.     We  are  his, 

To  serve  him  nobly  in  the  common  cause, 

True  to  the  death,  but  not  to  be  his  slaves. 

Mark  now  the  difference,  ye  that  boast  your  love 

Of  kings,  between  your  loyalty  and  ours. 

We  love  the  man,  the  paltry  pageant  you  : 

We  the  chief  patron  of  the  commonwealth, 

You  the  regardless  author  of  its  woes : 

We  for  the  sake  of  liberty  a  king, 

You  chains  and  bondage  for  a  tyrant's  sake. 

Our  love  is  principle,  and  has  its  root 

In  reason,  is  judicious,  manly,  free ; 

Yours,  a  blind  instinct,  crouches  to  the  rod, 

And  licks  the  foot  that  treads  it  in  the  dust. 

Were  kingship  as  true  treasure  as  it  seems,, 

Stei  ling  and  worthy  of  a  wise  man's  wish, 

I  would  not  be  a  king  to  be  beloved 

Causeless,  and  daubed  with  undiscerning  praiae, 


264  THE  TASK. 

Where  love  is  mere  attachment  to  the  throne, 
Not  to  the  man,  who  fills  it  as  he  ought. 

Whose  freedom  is  by  sufferance,  and  at  will 
Of  a  superior,  he  is  never  free. 
Who  lives,  and  is  not  weary  of  a  life 
Exposed  to  manacles,  deserves  them  well. 
The  state,  that  strives  for  liberty,  though  foiled, 
And  forced  t'  abandon  what  she  bravely  sought, 
Deserves  at  least  applause  for  her  attempt 
And  pity  for  her  loss.     But  that's  a  cause 
Not  often  unsuccessful :  power  usurped 
Is  weakness  when  opposed  ;  conscious  of  wrong, 
?Tis  pusillanimous  arid  prone  to  flight. 
But  slaves,  that  once  conceive  the  glowing  thought 
Of  freedom,  in  that  hope  itself  possess 
All  that  the  contest  calls  for  ;  spirit,  strength, 
The  scorn  of  danger,  and  united  hearts  : 
The  surest  presage  of  the  good  they  seek.* 

Then  shame  to  manhood,  and  opprobrious  more 
To  France  than  all  her  losses  arid  deteats, 
Old  or  of  later  date,  by  sea  or  land, 
Her  house  of  bondage,  worse  than  that  of  old 
Which  God  avenged  on  Pharaoh — the  Bastile. 
Ye  horrid  towers,  the  abode  of  broken  hearts  ; 
Ye  dungeons  and  ye  cages  of  despair, 
That  monarchs  have  supplied  from  age  to  age 
With  music,  such  as  suits  their  sovereign  ears, 
The  sighs  and  groans  of  miserable  men  ! 
There's  not  an  English  heart  that  would  not  leap 
To  hear  that  ye  were  fallen  at  last ;  to  know 
That  e'en  our  enemies,  so  oft  employed 
In  forging  chains  for  us,  themselves  were  free. 
For  he  who  values  Liberty,  confines 
His  zeal  for  her  predominance  within 
No  narrow  bounds  ;  her  cause  engages  him 

*  The  author  hopes,  that  he  shall  not  be  censured  for  unnecessaiy 
warmth  upon  so  interesting  a  subject.  He  is  aware,  that  it  is  become 
almostfasnionable  to  stigmatize  such  sentiments  as  no  better  than  empty 
declamation :  but  it  is  an  ill  symptom  and  peculiar  to  modern  times. 


THE   TASK.  205 

Wherever  pleaded.     'Tis  the  cause  of  man. 
There  dwell  the  most  forlorn  of  human  kind, 
Immured  though  unaccused,  condemned  untried, 
Cruelly  spared,  and  hopeless  of  escape. 
There,  like  the  visionary  emblem  seen 
By  him  of  Babylon,  life  stands  a  stump, 
And,  filleted  about  with  hoops  of  brass, 
Still  lives,  though  all  his  pleasant  boughs  are  gone 
To  count  the  hour-bell  and  expect  no  change  j 
And  ever  as  the  sullen  sound  is  heard, 
Still  to  reflect,  that,  though  a  joyless  note 
To  him  whose  moments  all  have  one  dull  pace, 
Ten  thousand  rovers  in  the  world  at  large 
Account  it  music  ;  that  it  summons  some 
To  theatre,  or  jocund  feast  or  ball ; 
The  wearied  hireling  finds  it  a  release 
From  labour ;  and  the  lover,  who  has  chid 
Its  long  delay,  feels  every  welcome  stroke 
Upon  his  heart-strings,  trembling  with  delight — 
To  fly  for  refuge  from  distracting  thought 
To  such  amusements  as  ingenious  wo 
Contrives,  hard-shifting,  and  without  her  tools — 
To  read  engraven  on  the  mouldy  walls, 
In  staggering  types,  his  predecessor's  tale, 
A  sad  memorial,  and  subjoin  his  own — 
To  turn  purveyor  to  an  overgorged 
And  bloated  spider,  till  the  pampered  pest 
Is  made  familiar,  watches  his  approach, 
Comes  at  his  call  and  serves  him  for  a  friend — 
To  wear  out  time  in  numbering  to  and  fro 
The  studs,  that  thick  emboss  his  iron  door  ; 
Then  downward  and  then  upward,  then  aslant 
And  then  alternate  ;  with  a  sickly  hope 
By  dint  of  change  to  give  his  tasteless  task 
Some  relish  ;  till  the  sum,  exactly  founu 
In  all  directions,  he  begins  again — 
Oh  comfortless  existence  !  hemmed  around 
VTith  woes,  which  who  that  suffers  would  not  knee.! 
23 


266  THE   TASK. 

And  beg  for  exile,  or  the  pangs  of  death? 
That  man  should  thus  encroach  on  fellow-man, 
Abridge  him  of  his  just  and  native  rights, 
Eradicate  him,  tear  him  from  his  hold 
Upon  the  endearments  of  domestic  life 
And  social,  nip  his  fruitfulness  and  use, 
And  doom  him  for  perhaps  a  heedless  word 
To  barrenness,  and  solitude,  and  tears, 
Moves  indignation,  makes  the  name  of  king 
(Of  king  whom  such  prerogative  can  please) 
As  dreadful  as  the  Manichean  god  : 
Adored  through  fear,  strong  only  to  destroy. 

'Tis  liberty  alone  that  gives  the  flower 
Of  fleeting  life  its  lustre  and  perfume  ; 
And  we  are  weeds  without  it.     All  constraint, 
Except  what  wisdom  lays  on  evil  men, 
Is  evil :  hurts  the  faculties,  impedes 
Their  progress  in  the  road  of  science,  blinds 
The  eyesight  of  Discovery ;  and  begets, 
In  those  that  suffer  it,  a  sordid  mind", 
Bestial,  a  meager  intellect,  unfit 
To  be  the  tenant  of  man's  noble  form. 
Thee  therefore  still,  blame-worthy  as  thou  art, 
With  all  thy  loss  of  empire,  and  though  squeezed 
By  public  exigence,  till  annual  food 
Falls  for  the  craving  hunger  of  the  state, 
Thee  I  account  still  happy,  and  the  chief 
Among  the  nations,  seeing  thou  art  free  ; 
My  native  nook  of  earth  !     Thy  clime  is  rude, 
Replete  with  vapours,  and  disposes  much 
All  hearts  to  sadness,  and  none  more  than  mine: 
Thine  unadulterate  manners  are  less  soft 
And  plausible  than  social  life  requires. 
^nd  thou  hast  need  of  discipline  and  art, 
To  give  thee  what  politer  France  receives 
From  nature's  bounty — that  humane  address 
And  sweetness,  without  which  no  pleasure  is 
In  converse,  either  starved  by  cold  reserve, 


THE    TASK.  231 

Or  flushed  with  fierce  dispute,  a  senseless  brawi 
Yet  being  free  I  love  thee  :  for  the  sake 
Of  that  one  feature  can  be  well  content, 
Disgraced  as  thou  hast  been,  poor  as  thou  art, 
To  seek  no  sublunary  rest  beside. 
Jut,  once  enslaved,  farewell !     I  could  endure 
( Chains  nowhere  patiently  ;  and  chains  at  home 
Where  I  am  free  by  birthright,  not  at  all. 
Then  what  were  left  of  roughness  in  the  grain 
Of  British  natures,  wanting  its  excuse 
That  it  belongs  to  freemen,  would  disgust 
And  shock  me.     I  should  then  with  double  pair 
Feel  all  the  rigour  of  thy  fickle  clime  • 
And  if  I  must  bewail  the  blessing  lost, 
For  which  our  Hampdens  and  our  Sidneys  bled, 
I  would  at  least  bewail  it  under  skies 
Milder,  among  a  people  less  austere ; 
In  scenes  which,  having  never  known  me  free, 
Would  not  reproach  mo  with  the  loss  I  felt. 
Do  I  forebode  impossible  events, 
And  tremble  at  vain  dreams?     Heaven  grant  I  may! 
But  th'  age  of  virtuous  politics  is  past, 
And  we  are  deep  in  that  of  cold  pretence. 
Patriots  are  grown  too  shrewd  to  be  sincere, 
And  we  too  wise  to  trust  them.     He  that  takes 
Deep  in  his  soft  credulity  the  stamp 
Designed  by  loud  declaimers  on  the  part 
Of  liberty,  themselves  the  slaves  of  lust, 
Incurs  derision  for  his  easy  faith, 
And  lack  of  knowledge,  and  with  cause  enough : 
For  when  was  public  virtue  to  be  found 
Where  private  was  not  ?     Can  he  love  the  whole 
Who  loves  no  part  ?     He  be  a  nation's  friend, 
Who  is  in  truth  the  friend  of  no  man  there  ? 
Can  he  be  strenuous  in  his  country's  cause, 
Who  slights  the  charities,  for  whose  dear  sake 
That  country,  if  at  all,  must  be  beloved  ? 
'Tis  therefore  sober  and  good  men  are  sad 


268  THE   TASK. 

For  England's  glory,  seeing  it  wax  pale 

And  sickly,  while  her  champions  wear  their  hearts 

So  loose  to  private  duty,  that  no  brain, 

Healthful  and  undisturbed  by  factious  fumes, 

Can  dream  them  trusty  to  the  general  weal. 

Such  were  not  they  of  old,  whose  tempered  blades 

Dispersed  the  shackles  of  usurped  control, 

And  hewed  them  link  from  link  ;  then  Albion's  sons 

Were  sons  indeed :  they  felt  a  filial  heart 

Beat  high  within  them  at  a  mother's  wrongs ; 

And,  shining  each  in  his  domestic  sphere. 

Shone  brighter  still,  once  called  to  public  view. 

}Tis  therefore  many,  whose  sequestered  lot 

Forbids  their  interference,  looking  on, 

Anticipate  perforce  some  dire  event ; 

And,  seeing  the  old  castle  of  the  state, 

That  promised  once  more  firmness,  so  assailed, 

That  all  its  tempest-beaten  turrets  shake, 

Stand  motionless  expectants  of  its  fall. 

All  has  its  date  below  ;  the  fatal  hour 

Was  registered  in  heaven  ere  time  began. 

We  turn  to  dust,  and  all  our  mightiest  works 

Die  too  :  the  deep  foundations  that  we  lay, 

Time  ploughs  them  up,  and  not  a  trace  remains, 

We  build  with  what  we  deem  eternal  rock : 

A  distant  age  asks  where  the  fabric  stood  ; 

And  in  the  dust,  sifted  arid  searched  in  vain, 

The  undiscoverable  secret  sleeps. 

But  there  is  yet  a  liberty,  unsung 
By  poets,  and  by  senators  unpraised, 
Which  monarchs  cannot  grant,  nor  all  the  powers 
Of  earth  and  hell  confederate  take  away : 
A  liberty,  which  persecution,  fraud, 
Oppression,  prisons,  have  no  power  to  bind  ; 
Which  whoso  tastes  can  be  enslaved  no  more. 
'Tis  liberty  of  heart  derived  from  Heaven, 
Bought  with  his  blood,  who  gave  it  to  mankind, 
And  sealed  with  the  same  token.     It  is  held 


THE  TASK. 

By  charter,  and  that  charter  sanctioned  sure 
By  th'  unimpeachable  and  awful  oath 
And  promise  of  a  God.     His  other  gifts 
All  bear  the  royal  stamp  that  speaks  them  his, 
And  are  august ;  but  this  transcends  them  all. 
His  other  works,  the  visible  display 
Of  all  creating  energy  and  might, 
Are  grand,  no  doubt,  and  worthy  of  the  work, 
That  finding  an  interminable  space 
Unoccupied,  has  filled  the  void  so  well, 
And  made  so  sparkling  what  was  dark  before. 
But  these  are  not  his  glory.     Man,  'tis  true, 
Smit  with  the  beauty  of  so  fair  a  scene, 
Might  well  suppose  th7  artificer  divine 
Meant  it  eternal,  had  hc»  not  himself 
Pronounced  it  transient,  glorious  as  it  is, 
And  still  designing  a  more  glorious  far, 
Doomed  it  as  insufficient  for  his  praise. 
These  therefore  are  occasional,  and  pass  ; 
Formed  for  the  confutation  of  the  fool, 
Whose  lying  heart  disputes  against  a  God  ; 
That  office  served,  they  must  be  swept  away. 
Not  so  the  labours  of  his  love  ;  they  shine 
In  other  heavens  than  these  that  we  behold, 
And  fade  not.     There  is  Paradise  that  fears 
No  forfeiture,  and  of  its  fruits  he  sends 
Large  prelibation  oft  to  saints  below. 
Of  these  the  first  in  order,  and  the  pledge, 
AM  confident  assurance  of  the  rest 
IP  liberty ;  a  flight  into  his  arms, 
E>c  yet  morality's  fine  threads  give  way, 
A  clear  escape  from  tyrannizing  lust, 
A  id  full  immunity  from  penal  wo. 

Chains  are  the  portion  of  revolted  man, 
Stripes  and  a  dungeon  ;  and  h  s  body  serves 
The  tripte  purpose.     In  that  sickly,  foul, 
Opprobrious  residence  he  finds  them  all. 
Propense  his  heart  to  idols,  he  is  held 


270  THE    TA!S>K. 

In  silly  dotage  on  created  things, 

Careless  of  their  Creator.     And  that  low 

And  sordid  gravitation  of  his  powers 

To  a  vile  clod  so  draws  him,  with  such  force 

Resistless  from  the  centre  he  should  seek, 

That  he  at  last  forgets  it.     All  his  hopes 

Tend  downward  ;  his  ambition  is  to  sink, 

To  reach  a  depth  profounder  still,  and  still 

Profounder,  in  the  fathomless  abyss 

Of  folly,  plunging  in  pursuit  of  death. 

But  ere  he  gain  the  comfortless  repose 

He  seeks,  and  acquiescence  of  his  soul 

In  Heaven-renouncing  exile,  he  endures — 

What  does  he  not,  from  lusts  opposed  in  vain, 

And  self-reproaching  conscience  ?     He  foresees 

The  fatal  issue  to  his  health,  fame,  peace, 

Fortune  and  dignity  ;  the  loss  of  all 

That  can  ennoble  man,  and  make  frail  life, 

Short  as  it  is,  supportable.     Still  worse, 

Far  worse  than  all  the  plagues,  with  which  his  sins 

Infect  his  happiest  moments,  he  forebodes 

Ages  of  hopeless  misery.     Future  death, 

And  death  still  future.     Not  a  hasty  stroke, 

Like  that  which  sends  him  to  the  dusty  grave ; 

But  unrepealable  enduring  death. 

Scripture  is  still  a  trumpet  to  his  fears ; 

What  none  can  prove  a  forgery  may  be  true  ; 

What  none  but  bad  men  wish  exploded  must. 

That  scruple  checks  him.     Riot  is  not  loud 

Nor  drunk  enough  to  drown  it.     In  the  midst 

Of  laughter  his  compunctions  are  sincere  ; 

And  he  abhors  the  jest  by  which  he  shines. 

Remorse  begets  reform.     His  master  lust 

Falls  first  before  his  resolute  rebuke, 

And  seems  dethroned  and  vanquished.     Peace  ensues, 

But  spurious  and  short-lived  ;  the  puny  child 

Of  self-congratulating  Pride,  begot 

On  fancied  Innocence  '/     Again  he  falls, 


THE    TASK.  271 

And  lights  again  ;  but  finds  his  best  essay 
A  presage  ominous,  portending  still 
Its  own  dishonour  by  a  worse  relapse, 
Till  Nature,  unavailing  Nature,  foiled 
So  oft,  and  wearied  in  the  vain  attempt, 
Scoffs  at  her  own  performance.     Reason  now 
Takes  part  with  appetite,  and  pleads  the  cause 
Perversely,  which  of  late  she'so  condemned ; 
With  shallow  shifts  and  old  devices,  worn 
And  tattered  in  the  service  of  debauch, 
Covering  his  shame  from  his  offended  sight. 

Hath  God  indeed  given  appetites  to  man, 
And  stored  the  earth  so  plenteously  with  means, 
To  gratify  the  hunger  of  his  wish  ; 
"  And  doth  he  reprobate,  and  will  he  damn 
The  use  of  his  own  bounty  ?  making  first 
So  frail  a  kind,  and  then  enacting  laws 
So  strict,  that  less  than  perfect  must  despair  ? 
Falsehood  !  which  whoso  but  suspects  of  truth 
Dishonours  God,  and  makes  a  slave  of  man. 
Do  they  themselves,  who  undertake  for  hire 
The  teacher's  office,  and  dispense  at  large 
Their  weekly  dole  of  edifying  strains, 
Attend  to  their  own  music  ?  have  they  faith 
In  what  with  such  solemnity  of  tone 
And  gesture  they  propound  to  our  belief? 
Nay — conduct  hath  the  loudest  tongue.     The  voice 
[s  but  an  instrument,  on  which  the  priest 
May  play  what  tune  he  pleases.     In  the  deed, 
The  unequivocal,  authentic  deed, 
We  find  sound  argument,  we  read  the  heart." 

Such  reasonings  (if  that  name  must  needs  belong 
T'  excuses  in  which  reason  has  no  part 
Serve  to  compose  a  spirit  well  inclined 
To  live  on  terms  of  amity  with  vice, 
And  sin  without  disturbance.     Often  urged 
(As  often  as  libidinous  discourse 
Exhausted,  he  resorts  to  solemn  themes 


212  THE   TASK. 

Of  theological  and  grave  import) 

They  gain  at  last  his  unreserved  assent ; 

Till,  hardened  his  heart's  temper  in  the  forge 

Of  lust,  and  the  anvil  of  despair, 

He  slights  the  strokes  of  conscience.     Nothing  moves 

Or  nothing  much,  his  constancy  in  ill ; 

Vain  tampering  has  but  fostered  his  disease ; 

'Tis  desperate,  and  he  sleeps  the  sleep  of  death. 

Haste,  now,  philosopher,  and  set  him  free. 

Charm  the  deaf  serpent  wisely.     Make  him  hear 

Of  rectitude  and  fitness,  moral  truth 

How  lovely,  and  the  moral  sense  how  sure, 

Consulted  and  obeyed,  to  guide  his  steps 

Directly  to  the  first  and  only  fair. 

Spare  not  in  such  a  cause.     Spend  all  the  powers 

Of  rant  and  rhapsody  in  virtue's  praise  : 

Be  most  sublimely  good,  verbosely  grand, 

And  with  poetic  trappings  grace  thy  prose, 

Till  it  unman  tie  all  the  pride  of  verse. — 

Ah,  tinkling  cymbal,  and  high-sounding  brass, 

Smitten  in  vain  !  such  music  cannot  charm 

The  eclipse,  that  intercepts  truth's  heavenly  beam, 

And  chills  and  darkens  a  wide-wandering  soul. 

The  still  small  voice  is  wanted.     He  must  speak, 

Whose  word  leaps  forth  at  once  to  its  effect ; 

Who  calls  for  things  that  are  not,  and  they  come. 

Grace  makes  the  slave  a  freeman.     7Tis  a  change, 
That  turns  to  ridicule  the  turgid  speech 
And  stately  to/ie  of  moralists,  who  boast, 
As  if,  like  him  of  fabulous  renown, 
They  had  indeed  ability  to  smooth 
The  shag  of  savage  nature,  and  were  each 
An  Orpheus,  and  omnipotent  in  song  : 
But  transformation  of  apostate  man 
From  fool  to  wise,  from  earthly  to  divine, 
Is  work  for  him  that  made  him.     He  alone, 
And  he  by  means  in  philosophic  eyes 
Trivial  and  worthy  of  disdain,  achieves 


THE    TASK.  273 

The  wonder  ;  humanizing  what  is  brute 
In  the  lost  kind,  extracting  from  the  lips 
Of  asps  their  venom,  overpowering  strength 
By  weakness,  and  hostility  by  love. 

Patriots  have  toiled,  and  in  their  country's  cause 
Bled  nobly ;  and  their  deeds,  as  they  deserve, 
Receive  proud  recompense.     We  give  in  charge 
Their  names  to  the  sweet  lyre.     Th'  historic  muse, 
Proud  of  the  treasure,  marches  with  it  down 
To  latest  times ;  and  Sculpture,  in  her  turn, 
Gives  bond  in  stone  and  ever-during  brass 
To  guard  them,  and  t'  immortalize  her  trust; 
But  fairer  wreaths  are  due,  though  never  paid, 
To  those,  who,  posted  at  the  shrine  of  Truth, 
Have  fallen  *in  her  defence.     A  patriot's  blood, 
Well  spent  in  such  a  strife,  may  earn  indeed. 
And  for  a  time  ensure,  to  his  loved  land 
The  sweets  of  liberty  and  equal  laws ; 
But  martyrs  struggle  for  a  brighter  prize, 
And  win  it  with  more  pain.     Their  blood  is  shed 
In  confirmation  of  the  noblest  claim, 
Our  claim  to  feed  upon  immortal  truth, 
To  walk  with  God,  to  be  divinely  free, 
To  soar,  and  to  anticipate  the  skies. 
Yet  few  remember  them.     They  lived  unknown, 
Till  persecution  dragged  them  into  fame, 
And  chased  them  up  to  Heaven.     Their  ashes  flew 
— No  marble  tells  us  whither.     With  their  name 
No  bard  embalms  and  sanctifies  his  song : 
And  history,  so  warm  on  meaner  themes, 
Is  cold  on  this.     She  execrates  indeed 
The  tyranny  that  doomed  them  to  the  fire, 
But  gives  the  glorious  sufferers  little  praise.* 

He  is  the  freeman  whom  the  truth  makes  free, 
And  all  are  slaves  besides.     There's  not  a  chain, 
That  hellish  foes,  confederate  for  his  harm, 
Can  wind  around  him,  but  he  casts  it  off 

*  See  Hume. 


274  THE    TASK. 

With  as  much  ease  as  Samson  his  green  withs. 

He  looks  abroad  into  the  varied  field 

Of  nature,  and  though  poor  perhaps,  compared 

With  those  whose  mansions  glitter  in  his  sight, 

Calls  the  delightful  scenery  all  his  own. 

His  are  the  mountains,  and  the  valleys  his, 

And  the  resplendent  rivers,  his  t'  enjoy 

With  a  propriety  that  none  can  feel, 

But  who,  with  filial  confidence  inspired, 

Can  lift  to  Heaven  an  unpresumptuous  eye, 

And  smiling  say — "  My  father  made  them  all !" 

Are  they  not  his  by  a  peculiar  right, 

Arid  by  an  emphasis  of  interest  his, 

Whose  eye  they  fill  with  tears  of  holy  joy, 

Whose  heart  with  praise,  and  whose  exalted  mind 

With  worthy  thoughts  of  that  unwearied  love, 

That  planned,  and  built,  and  still  upholds,  a  wor]d 

So  clothed  with  beauty  for  rebellious  man  ? 

Yes — ye  may  fill  your  garners,  ye  that  reap 

The  loaded  soil,  and  ye  may  waste  much  good 

In  senseless  riot ;  but  ye  will  not  find 

In  feast,  or  in  the  chase,  in  song  or  dance, 

A  liberty  like  his,  who  unimpeached 

Of  usurpation,  and  to  no  man's  wrong, 

Appropriates  nature  as  his  Father's  work, 

And  has  a  richer  use  of  yours  than  you. 

He  is  indeed  a  freeman.     Free  by  birth  ; 

Of  no  mean  city  ;  planned  or  ere  the  hills 

Were  built,  the  fountains  opened,  or  the  sea 

With  all  his  roaring  multitude  of  waves. 

His  freedom  is  the  same  in  every  state  ;   M  ji»i 

And  no  condition  of  this  changeful  life, 

So  manifold  in  cares,  whose  every  day 

Brings  its  own  evil  with  it,  makes  it  less  : 

For  he  has  wings,  that  neither  sickness,  pain, 

Nor  penury,  can  cripple  or  confine. 

No  nook  so  narrow  but  he  spreads  them  there 

With  ease,  and  is  at  large.     Th'  oppressor  holds 


THE  TASK  275 

His  body  bound,  but  knows  not  what  a  range 
His  spirit  takes  unconscious  of  a  chain  ; 
And  that  to  bind  him  is  a  vain  attempt, 
Whom  God  delights  in,  and  in  whom  he  dwells. 

Acquaint  thyself  with  God,  if  thou  wouldst  taste 
His  works.     Admitted  once  to  his  embrace, 
Thou  shalt  perceive  that  thou  wast  blind  before ; 
Thine  eye  shall  be  instructed  ;  and  thine  heart 
Made  pure  shall-  relish,  with  divine  delight, 
Till  then  unfelt,  what  hands  divine  have  wrought. 
Brutes  graze  the  mountain  top,  with  faces  prone, 
And  eyes  intent  upon  the  scanty  herb 
It  yields  them  ;  or,  recumbent  on  its  brow 
Ruminate  heedless  of  the  scene  outspread 
Beneath,  beyond,  and  stretching  far  away 
From  inland  regions  to  the  distant  main. 
Man  views  it  and  admires  ;  but  rests  content 
With  what  he  views.     The  landscape  has  his  praise. 
But  not  its  Author.     Unconcerned  who  formed 
The  paradise  he  sees,  he  finds  it  such, 
And  such  well-pleased  to  find  it,  asks  no  more. 
Not  so  the  mind,  that  has  been  touched  from  Heaven, 
And  in  the  school  of  sacred  wisdom  taught 
To  read  his  wonders,  in  whose  thought  the  world, 
Fair  as  it  is,  existed  ere  it  was. 
Not  for  his  own  sake  merely,  but  for  his 
Much  more,  who  fashioned  it,  he  gives  it  praise  ; 
Praise  that  from  Earth  resulting,  as  it  ought 
To  earth's  acknowledged  Sovereign,  finds  atbnce 
Its  only  just  proprietor  in  him. 
The  soul  that  sees  him,  or  receives  sublimed 
New  faculties,  or  learns  at  least  V  employ 
More  worthily  the  powers  she  owned  before, 
Discerns  in  all  things  what,  with  stupid  gaze 
Of  ignorance,  till  then  she  overlooked 
A  ray  of  heavenly  light,  gilding  all  forms 
Terrestrial  in  the  vast  and  the  minute  ; 
The  ambiguous  footsteps  of  the  God. 


276  THE    TASK. 

Who  gives  its  lustre  to  an  insect's  wing. 
And  wheels  his  throne  upon  the  rolling  worlds. 
Much  conversant  with  Heaven,  she  often  holds 
With  those  fair  ministers  of  light  to  man, 
That  fill  the  skies  nightly  with  silent  pomp, 
Sweet  conference.     Inquires  \vhat  strains  were  they 
With  which  Heaven  rang,  when  every  star  in  haste 
To  gratulate  the  new-created  earth, 
Sent  forth  a  voice,  and  all  the  sons  of.  God 
Shouted  for  joy. — "  Tell  me,  ye  shining  hosts, 
That  navigate  a  sea  that  knows  no  storms, 
Beneath  a  vault  unsullied  with  a  cloud, 
If  from  your  elevation,  whence  ye  view 
Distinctly  scenes  invisible  to  man, 
And  systems  of  whose  birth  no  tidings  yet 
Have  reached  this  nether  world,  ye  spy  a  race 
Favoured  as  ours  ;  transgressors  from  the  womb, 
And  hasting  to  a  grave,  yet  doomed  to  rise, 
And  to  possess  a  brighter  heaven  than  yours  ? 
As  one,  who,  long  detained  on  foreign  shores, 
Pants  to  return,  and  when  he  sees  afar 
His  country's  weather-bleached  and  battered  rorks 
Prom  the  green  wave  emerging,  darts  an  eyo 
Radiant  with  joy  towards  the  happy  land  ; 
So  I  with  animated  hopes  behold, 
And  many  an  aching  wish,  your  beamy  fires, 
.  That  show  like  beacons  in  the  blue  abyss, 
Ordained  to  guide  th7  imbodied  spirit  home 
From  toilsome  life  to  never-ending  rest. 
Love  kindles  as  I  gaze.     I  feel  desires 
That  give  assurance  of  their  own  success. 
And  that,  infused  from  Heaven,  must  thither  tend." 

So  reads  he  nature,  whom  the  lamp  of  truth 
Illuminates.     Thv  lamp,  mysterious  Word  ! 
Which  whoso  sees,  no  longer  wanders  lost, 
With  intellects  bemazed  in  endless  doubt, 
But  runs  the  road  of  wisdom.     Thou  hast  built, 
With  means  that  were  not  till  by  thee  employed, 


THE  TASK.  277 

Worlds  that  had  never  been,  hadst  thou  in  strength 
Been  less,  or  less  benevolent  than  strong. 
They  are  thy  witnesses,  who  speak  thy  power 
And  goodness  infinite,  but  speak  in  ears 
That  hear  not,  or  receive  not  their  report. 
In  vain  thy  creatures  testify  of  thee, 
Till  thou  proclaim  thyself.     Theirs  is  indeed 
A  teaching  voice  ;  biit  'tis  the  praise  of  thine, 
That  whom  it  teaches  it  makes  prompt  to  learn, 
And  with  the  boon  gives  talents  for  its  use. 
Till  thou  art  heard,  imaginations  vain 
Possess  the  heart,  and  fables  false  as  hell ; 
Yet,  deemed  oracular,  lure  down  to  death 
The  uninformed  and  heedless  souls  of  men. 
We  give  to  chance,  blind  chance,  ourselves  as  blind, 
The  glory  of  thy  work  which  yet  appears 
Perfect  and  unimpeachable  of  blame, 
Challenging  human  scrutiny,  and  proved 
Then  skilful  most  when  most  severely  judged. 
But  chance  is  not ;  or  is  not  where  thou  reign'st : 
Thy  providence  forbids  that  fickle  power 
(If  power  she  be,  that  works  but  to  confound) 
To  mix  her  wild  vagaries  with  thy  laws. 
Yet  thus  we  dote,  refusing  while  we  can 
Instruction,  and  inventing  to  ourselves 
Gods  such  as  guilt  makes  welcome  ;  gods  that  sleep, 
Or  disregard  our  follies,  or  that  sit 
Amused  spectators  of  this  bustling  stage. 
Thee  we  reject,  unable  to  abide 
Thy  purity,  till  pure  as  thou  art  pure, 
Made  such  by  thee,  we  love  thee  for  thy  cause, 
For  which  we  shunned  and  hated  thee  before. 
Then  we  are  free.     Then  liberty,  like  day, 
Breaks  on  the  soul,  and  by  a  flash  from  Heaven 
Fires  all  the  faculties  with  glorious  joy. 
A  voice  is  heard,  that  mortal  ears  hear  not, 
Till  thou  hast  touched  them  ;  'tis  the  voice  of  song 
A  loud  hosanna  sent  from  all  thy  works. 

24 


276  Tin:  TASK. 

Which  he  that  hears  it  with  a  shout  repeats, 
And  adds  his  rapture  to  the  general  praise. 
In  that  blest  moment  Nature,  throwing  wide 
Her  veil  opaque,  discloses  with  a  smile 
The  author  of  her  beauties,  who,  retired 
Behind  his  own  creation,  works  unseen 
By  the  impure,  and  hears  his  power  denied. 
Thou  art  the  source  and  centre  of  all  minds, 
Their  only  point  of  rest,  eternal  word ! 
From  thee  departing  they  are  lost,  and  rove 
At  random  without  honour,  hope,  or  peace. 
From  thee  is  all  that  soothes  the  life  of  man, 
His  high  endeavour,  and  his  glad  success, 
His  strength  to  suffer,  and  his  will  to  serve 
But  O  thou  bounteous  Giver  of  all  good, 
Thou  art  of  all  thy  gifts  thyself  the  crown ! 
Give  what  thou  canst,  without  thee  we  are  poor, 
with  thee  rich,  take  what  thou  wilt  away. 


THE  TASK.  279 


THE   TASK. 

BOOK  VL 

THE   WINTER   WALK    AT    NOON. 

ARGUMENT. 

BELLS  at  a  distance. — Their  effect. — A  fine  noon  in  winter. — A  shelter- 
ed walk. — Meditation  better  than  books. — Our  familiarity  with  the 
course  of  nature  makes  it  appear  less  wonderful  than  it  is. — The  trans- 
formation that  spring  effects  in  a  shrubbery  described. — A  mistake  con- 
cerning the  course  of  nature  corrected.— God  maintains  it  by  an  unre- 
mitted  act. — The  amusements  fashionable  atjthis  hour  of  the  day  re- 
proved.-7-Animals  happy,  a  delightful  sight.— Origin  of  cruelty  to  animals. 
— That  it  is  a  great  crime  proved  from  Scripture.  That  proof  illustrated 
by  a  tale. — A  line  drawn  between  the  lawful  and  unlawful  destruction 
of  them. — Their  good  and  useful  properties  insisted  on. — Apology  for 
the  encomiums  bestowed  by  the  author  on  animals. — Instance?  of  man's 
extravagant  praise  of  man. — The  groans  of  the  creation  shall  have  an 
end. — A  view  taken  of  the  restoration  of  all  things. — An  invocation  and 
an  invitation  of  him,  who  shall  bring  it  to  pass.— The  retired  man  vin- 
dicated from  the  charge  of  uselessness. — Conclusion. 

THERE  is  in  souls  a  sympathy  with  sounds  ; 
And  as  the  mind  is  pitched  the  ear  is  pleased 
With  melting  airs  of  martial,  brisk  or  grave ; 
Some  chord  in  unison  with  what  we  hear 
Is  touched  within  us,  and  the  heart  replies. 
How  soft  the  music  of  those  village  bells, 
Falling  at  intervals  upon  the  ear 
In  cadence  sweet,  now  dying  all  away, 
Now  pealing  loud  again,  and  louder  still 
Clear  and  sonorous,  as  the  gale  comes  on ! 
With  easy  force  it  opens  all  the  cells 
Where  Memory  slept.     Wherever  I  have  heard 
A  kindred  melody,  the  scene  recurs, 
And  with  it  all  its  pleasures  and  its  pains. 
Such  comprehensive  views  the  spirit  takes, 
That  in  a  few  short  moments  I  retrace 
(As  in  a  map  the  voyager  his  course) 
The  windings  of  my  way  through  many  years. 


280  THE   TASK. 

Short  as  in  retrospect  the  journey  seems, 
It  seemed  not  always  short ;  the  rugged  path, 
And  prospect  oft  so  dreary  and  forlorn, 
Moved  many  a  sigh  at  its  disheartening  length. 
Yet  feeling  present  evils,  while  the  past 
Faintly  impress  the  mind,  or  not  at  all, 
How  readily  we  wish  time  spent  revoked, 
That  we  might  try  the  ground  again  where  once 
(Through  inexperience,  as  we  now  perceive) 
We  missed  that  happiness  we  might  have  found  ! 
Some  friend  is  gone,  perhaps  his  son's  best  friend, 
A  father,  whose  authority,  in  show 
When  most  severe  and  mustering  all  its  force, 
Was  but  the  graver  countenance  of  love  ; 
Whose  favour,  like  the  clouds  of  spring,  might 
And  utter  now  arid  then  an  awful  voice, 
But  had  a  blessing  in  its  darkest  frown, 
Threatening  at  once  and  nourishing  the  plant. 
We  loved,  but  not  enough,  the  gentle  hand 
That  reared  us.     At  a  thoughtless  age,  allured 
By  every  gilded  folly,  we  renounced 
His  sheltering  side,  and  wilfully  forewent 
That  converse,  which  we  now  in  vain  regret. 
How  gladly  would  the  man  recall  to  life 
The  boy's  neglected  sire  !  a  mother  too, 
That  softer  friend,  perhaps  more  gladly  still, 
Might  he  demand  them  at  the  gates  of  death. 
Sorrow  has,  since  they  went,  subdued  and  tamed 
The  playful  humour  ;  he  could  now  endure 
(Himself  grown  sober  in  the  vale  of  tears) 
And  feel  a  parent's  presence  no  restraint. 
But  not  to  understand  a  treasure's  worth, 
Till  time  has  stolen  away  the  slighted  good, 
Is  cause  of  half  the  poverty  we  feel, 
And  makes  the  world  the  wilderness  it  is. 
The  few  that  pray  at  all  pray  oft  amiss, 
And  seeking  grace  t'  improve  the  prize  they  hold, 
Would  urge  a  wiser  suit  than  asking  more. 


THE   TASK.  281 

The  night  was  winter  in  its  roughest  moods  ; 
The  morning  sharp  and  clear.     But  now  at  noon 
Upon  the  southern  side  of  the  slant  hills, 
And  where  the  woods  fence  off  the  northern  blast 
The  season  smiles,  resigning  all  its  rage, 
And  has  the  warmth  of  May.     The  vault  is  blue 
Without  a  cloud,  and  white  without  a  speck 
The  dazzling  splendour  of  the  scene  below. 
Again  the  harmony  comes  o'er  the  vale  ; 
And  through  the  trees  I  view  th'  embattled  tower, 
Whence  ajl  the  music.     1  again  perceive 
The  soothing  influence  of  the  wafted  strains, 
And  settle  in  soft  musings  as  I  tread 
The  walk,  still  verdant,  under  oaks  and  elms, 
Whose  outspread  branches  overarch  the  glade. 
The  roof,  though  moveable  through  all  its  length 
As  the  wind  sways  it,  has  yet  well  sufficed, 
And,  intercepting  in  their  silent  fall 
The  frequent  flakes,  has  kept  a  path  for  me. 
No  noise  is  here,  or  none  that  hinders  thought. 
The  redbreast  warbles  still,  but  is  content 
With  s-lender  notes,  and  more  than  half  suppressed 
Pleased  with  his  solitude,  and  flitting  light 
From  spray  to  spray,  where'er  he  rests  he  shakes 
From  many  a  twig  the  pendant  drops  of  ice, 
That  tinkle  in  the  withered  leaves  below. 
Stillness,  accompanied  with  sounds  so  soft, 
Charms  more  than  silence.     Meditation  here 
May  think  down  hours  to  moments.     Here  the  heart 
May  give  a  useful  lesson  to  the  head, 
And  learning  wiser  grow  without  his  books. 
Knowledge  and  Wisdom,  far  from  being  one, 
Have  ofttimes  no  connexion.     Knowledge  dwells 
In  heads  replete  with  thoughts  of  other  men ; 
Wisdom  in  minds  attentive  to  their  own. 
Knowledge,  a  rude  unprofitable  mass, 
The  mere  materials  with  which  Wisdom  builds, 
Till  smoothed,  and  squared,  and  fitted  to  its  place, 
24* 


282  THE    TASK. 

Does  but  encumber  whom  it  seems  t'  enrich. 

Knowledge  is  proud  that  he  has  learned  so  much; 

Wisdom  is  humble  that  he  knows  no  more. 

Books  are  not  seldom  talismans  and  spells, 

By  which  the  magic  art  of  shrewder  wits 

Holds  an  unthinking  multitude  enthralled. 

Some  to  the  fascination  of  a  name 

Surrender  judgment,  hoodwinked.     Some  the  style 

Infatuates,  and  through  labyrinths  and  wilds 

Of  error  leads  them,  by  a  tune  entranced. 

While  sloth  seduces  more,  too  weak  to  bear 

The  insupportable  fatigue  of  thought, 

And  swallowing  therefore  without  pause  or  choice, 

The  total  grist  unsifted,  husks  and  all. 

But  trees  and  rivulets,  whose  rapid  course 

Defies  the  check  of  winter,  haunts  of  deer, 

And  sheep-walks  populous  with  bleating  lambs. 

And  lanes  in  which  the  primrose  ere  her  time 

Peeps  through  the  moss,  that  clothes  the  hawthorn 

root, 

Deceive  no  student.     Wisdom  there,  and  truth, 
Not  shy,  as  in  the  world,  and  to  be  won 
By  slow  solicitation,  seize  at  once 
The  roving  thought,  and  fix  it  on  themselves. 
What  prodigies  can  power  divine  perform 
More  grand  than  it  produces  year  by  year, 
And  all  in  sight  of  inattentive  man  ? 
Familiar  with  the  effect,  we  slight  the  cause, 
And  in  the  constancy  of  nature's  course, 
The  regular  return  of  genial  months, 
And  renovation  of  a  faded  world, 
See  naught  to  wonder  at.     Should  God  again, 
As  once  in  Gibeon,  interrupt  the  race 
Of  the  undeviating  and  punctual  sun, 
How  would  the  world  admire  !  but  speaks  it  less 
An  agency  divine,  to  make  him  know 
His  moment  when  to  sink,  and  when  to  rise, 
Age  after  age,  than  to  arrest  his  course  ? 


THE   TASK.  283 

Arl  we  behold  is  miracle ;  but  seen 

So  duly,  all  is  miracle  in  vain. 

Where  now  the  vital  energy  that  moved, 

While  summer  was,  the  pure  and  subtle  lymph 

Through  the  imperceptible  meandering  veins 

Of  leaf  and  flower  ?  It  sleeps  ;  and  th'  icy  touch 

Of  unprolific  winter  has  impressed 

A  cold  stagnation  on  th'  intestine  tide 

But  let  the  months  go  round,  a  few  short  months, 

And  all  shall  be  restored.     These  naked  shoots, 

Barren  as  lances,  among  which  the  wind 

Makes  wintry  music,  sighing  as  it  goes, 

Shall  put  their  graceful  foliage  on  again, 

And  more  aspiring,  and  with  ampler  spread, 

Shall  boast  new  charms,  and  more  than  they  have 

lost. 

Then  each  in  its  peculiar  honours  clad, 
Shall  publish  even  to  the  distant  eye 
Its  family  and  tribe.     Laburnum,  rich 
In  streaming  gold  ;  syringa,  ivory  pure ; 
The  scentless  and  the  scented  rose  ;  this  red 
And  of  an  humbler  growth,  the  other*  tall, 
And  throwing  up  into  the  darkest  gloom 
Of  neighbouring  cypress,  or  more  sable  yew, 
Her  silver  globes,  light  as  the  foamy  surf 
That  the  wind  severs  from  the  broken  wave 
The  lilac,  various  in  array,  now  white, 
Now  sanguine,  and  her  beauteous  head  now  set 
With  purple  spikes  pyramidal,  as  if 
Studious  of  ornament,  yet  unresolved 
Which  hue  she  most  approved,  she  chose  them  all ; 
Copious  of  flowers,  the  woodbine,  pale  and  wan 
But  well  compensating  her  sickly  looks 
With  never-cloying  odours,  early  and  late  ; 
Hypericum  all  bloom,  so  thick  a  swarm 
Of  flowers  like  flies  clothing  her  slender  rods, 
That  scarce  a  leaf  appears ;  mezereon  too, 

*  The  Guelder-rose. 


284  THE    TASK. 

Though  leafless,  well-attired,  and  thick  beset, 

With  blushing  wreaths,  investing  every  spray  : 

Althaea  with  the  purple  eye  ;  the  broom, 

Yellow  and  bright,  as  bullion  unalloyed, 

Her  blossoms  ;  arid  luxuriant  above  all 

The  jasmine,  throwing  wide  her  elegant  sweets, 

The  deep  dark  green  of  whose  unvarnished  leaf 

Makes  more  conspicuous,  and  illumines  more, 

The  bright  profusions  of  her  scattered  stare.- — 

These  have  been,  and  these  shall  be,  in  their  day 

And  all  this  uniform  uncoloured  scene 

Shall  be  dismantled  of  its  fleecy  load, 

And  flush  into  variety  again. 

From  dearth  to  plenty,  and  from  death  to  life, 

Is  Nature's  progress,  when  she  lectures  man 

In  heavenly  truth  ;  evincing,  as  she  makes 

The  grand  transition,  that  there  lives  and  works 

A  soul  in  all  things,  and  that  soul  is  God. 

The  beauties  of  the  wilderness  are  his, 

That  makes  so  gay  the  solitary  place, 

Where  no  eye  sees  them.     And  the  fairer  forms, 

That  cultivation  glories  in,  are  his. 

He  sets  the  bright  procession  on  its  way, 

And  marshals  all  the  order  of  the  year  ; 

He  marks  the  bounds,  which  winter  may  not  pass. 

And  blunts  his  pointed  fury  ;  in  its  case, 

Russet  and  rude,  folds  up  the  tender  germ, 

Uninjured  with  inimitable  art ; 

And,  ere  one  flowery  season  fades  and  dies, 

Designs  the  blooming  wonders  of  the  next. 

Some  say  that  in  the  origin  of  things, 
When  all  creation  started  into  birth, 
The  infant  elements  received  a  law, 
From  which  they  swerved  not  since.     Thai  uncer 

force 

Of  that  controlling  ordinance  they  move, 
And  need  not  his  immediate  hand,  who  first 
Described  their  course,  to  regulate  it  now. 


THE    TASK.  235 

Thus  dream  they,  and  contrive  to  save  a  God 
Th'  encumbrance  of  his  own  concerns,  and  spare 
The  great  artificer  of  all  that  moves 
The  stress  of  a  continual  act,  the  pain 
Of  unremitted  vigilance  and  care, 
As  too  laborious  and  severe  a  task. 
Sr  man,  the  moth,  is  riot  afraid,  it  seems, 
To  span  omnipotence,  arid  measure  might, 
That  knows  no  measure,  by  the  scanty  rule 
And  standard  of  his  own,  that  is  to-day, 
And  is  not  ere  to-morrow's  sun  go  down. 
But  how  should  matter  occupy  a  charge, 
Dull  as  it  is,  and  satisfy  a  law 
So  vast  in  its  demands,  unless  impelled 
To  ceaseless  service  by  a  ceaseless  force, 
And  under  pressure  of  some  conscious  causr.  ? 
The  Lord  of  all,  himself  through  all  diffused, 
Sustains,  and  is  the  life  of  all  that  lives. 
/Nature  is  but  a  name  for  an  effect, 
•  Whose  cause  is  God.     He  feeds  the  sacred  fire 
'By  which  the  mighty  process  is  maintained  ; 
Who  sleeps  not,  is  not  weary ;  in  whose  sight 
Slow  circling  ages  are  as  transient  days ; 
Whose  work  is  without  labour  ;  whose  designs 
No  flaw  deforms,  no  difficulty  thwarts  ; 
And  whose  beneficence  no  change  exhausts. 
Him  blind  antiquity  profaned,  not  served, 
With  self-taught  rites,  and  under  various  names, 
Female  and  male,  Pomona,  Pales,  Pan, 
And  Flora,  and  Vertumnus  ;  peopling  earth 
With  tutelary  goddesses  and  gods, 
That  were  not  ;  and  commending  as  they  would 
To  each  some  province,  garden,  field,  or  grove. 
But  all  are  under  one.     One  spirit — His, 
Who  wore  the  platted  thorns  with  bleeding  brows, — 
Rules  universal  nature.     Not  a  flower 
But  shows  some  touch,  in  freckle,  streak,  or  stain, 
Of  his  unrivalled  pencil.     He  inspires 


28*5  THE   TASK. 

Their  balmy  odours,  and  imparts  their  hues, 

And  bathes  their  eyes  with  nectar,  arid  includes, 

In  grains  as  countless  as  the  seaside  sands, 

The  forms  with  which  he  sprinkles  all  the  earth. 

Happy  who  walks  with  him  !  whom  what  he  finds 

Of  flavour  or  of  scent  in  fruit  or  flower, 

Or  what  he  views  of  beautiful  or  grand 

In  nature,  from  the  broad  majestic  oak 

To  the  green  blade  that  twinkles  in  the  sun, 

Prompts  with  remembrance  of  a  present  God. 

His  presence,  who  made  all  so  fair,  perceived, 

Makes  all  still  fairer.     As  with  him  no  scene 

Is  dreary,  so  with  him  all  seasons  please. 

Though  winter  had  been  none,  had  man  been  true, 

And  earth  be  punished  for  its  tenant's  sake, 

Yet  not  in  vengeance  ;  as  this  smiling  sky, 

So  soon  succeeding  such  an  angry  night, 

And  these  dissolving  snows,  and  this  clear  stream 

Recovering  fast  its  liquid  music,  prove. 

Who  then,  that  has  a  mind  well  strung  and  tuned 
To  contemplation,  and  within  his  reach 
A  scene  so  friendly  to  his  favourite  task, 
Would  waste  attention  at  the  checkered  board, 
His  host  of  wooden  warriors  to  and  fro 
Marching  and  counter-marching,  with  an  eye 
As  fixed  as  marble,  with  a  foreliead  ridged 
And  furrowed  into  storms,  and  with  a  hand 
Trembling,  as  if  eternity  were  hung 
In  balance  on  his  conduct  of  a  pin  ? 
Nor  envies  he  ought  more  their  idle  sport, 
Who  pant  with  application  misapplied 
To  trivial  toys,  and  pushing  ivory  balls 
Across  a  velvet  level,  feel  a  joy 
Akin  to  rapture,  when  the  bauble  finds 
Its  destined  goal,  of  difficult  access. 
Nor  deems  he  wiser  him,  who  gives  his  noon 
To  Miss,  the  mercer's  plague,  from  shop  to  shop 
Wandering,  and,  littering  with  unfolded  silks 


THE   TASK.  287 

The  polished  counter,  and  approving  none, 
Or  promising  with  smiles  to  call  again. 
Nor  him,  who  by  his  vanity  seduced, 
And  soothed  into  a  dream  that  he  discerns 
The  difference  of  a  Guido  from  a  daub, 
Frequents  the  crowded  auction  :  stationed  there 
As  duly  as  the  Langford  of  the  show, 
With  glass  at  eye;  and  catalogue  in  hand, 
And  tongue  accomplished  in  the  fulsome  cant, 
And  pedantry,  that  coxcombs  Jetoi  with  ease ; 
Oft  as  the  price  deciding  hammeT falls, 
He  notes  it  in  his  book,  then  raps  his  box, 
Swears  'tis  a  bargain,  rails  at  his  hard  fate, 
That  he  has  let  it  pass — but  never  bids. 

Here  unmolested,  through  whatever  sign 
The  sun  proceeds,  I  wander.     Neither  mist, 
Nor  freezing  sky,  nor  sultry,  checking  me, 
Nor  stranger,  intermeddling  with  my  joy. 
E'en  in  the  spring  and  playtime  of  the  year, 
That  calls  th'  unwonted  villager  abroad 
With  all  her  little  ones,  *a  sportive  train, 
To  gather  kinecups  in  the  yellow  mead, 
And  prink  their  hair  with  daisies,  or  to  pick 
A  cheap  but  wholesome  salad  from  the  brook, 
These  shades  are  all  my  own.     The  timorous  hare 
Grown  so  familiar  with  her  frequent  guest, 
Scarce  shuns  me ;  and  the  stockdove  \malaxmed 
Sits  cooing  in  the  pine-tree,  nor  suspends 
His  long  love-ditty  for  my  near  approach. 
Drawn  from  his  refuge  in  some  lonely  elm, 
That  age  or  injury  has  hollowed  deep 
Where,  on  his  bed  of  wool  and  matted  leaves, 
He  has  outslept  the  winter,  ventures  forth 
To  frisk  awhile,  and  bask  in  the  warm  sun, 
The  squirrel,  flippant,  pert,  and  full  of  play; 
He  sees  me,  and  at  once,  swift  as  a  bird, 
Ascends  the  neighbouring  beech;  there  whisks  his 
brush, 


283  THE  TASK. 

And  perks  his  ears,  and  stamps,  and  cries  alcud, 
With  all  the  prettiness  of  feigned  alarm, 
And  anger  insignificantly  fierce. 

The  heart  is  hard  in  nature  and  unfit 
For  human  fellowship,  a?s  being  void 
Of  sympathy,  and  therefore  dead  alike 
To  love  and  friendship  both,  that  is  not  pleased 
With  sight  of  animals  enjoying  life, 
Nor  feels  their  happiness  augment  his  own. 
The  bounding  fawn,  that  darts  across  the  glade, 
When  none  pursues,  through  mere  delight  of  heart, 
And  spirits  buoyant  with  excess  of  glee  ; 
The  horse  as  wanton,  and  almost  as  fleet, 
That  skims  the  spacious  meadow  at  full  speed, 
Then  stops,  and  snorts,  and  throwing  high  his  heds, 
Starts  to  the  voluntary  race  again  ; 
The  very  kine,  that  gambol  at  high  noon. 
The  total  herd  receiving  first  from  one, 
That  leads  the  dance,  a  summons  to  be  gay, 
Though  wild  their  strange  vagaries,  and  uncouth 
Their  efforts,  yet  resolved  with  one  consenx 
To  give  such  act  and  utterance  as  they  mav 
To  ecstacy  too  big  to  be  suppressed — 
These,  and  a  thousand  images  of  bliss, 
With  which  kind  Nature  graces  every  scene, 
Where  cruel  man  defeats  not  her  design, 
Impart  to  the  benevolent,  who  wisH 
All  that  are  capable  of  pleasure  pleased, 
A  far  superior  happiness  to  theirs, 
The  comfort  of  a  reasonable  joy. 

Man  scarce  had  risen,  obedient  to  his  call 
Who  formed  him  from  the  dust,  his  future  grave, 
When  he  was  crowned  as  never  king  was  since. 
God  set  the  diadem  upon  his  head, 
And  angel  choirs  attended.     Wondering  stood 
The  new-made  monarch,  while  before  him  passed, 
All  happy,  and  all  perfect  in  their  kind, 
The  creatures,  summoned  from  their  various  haunts 


THE    TASK.  289 

"\xx  dee  their  sovereign,  and  confess  his  sway. 

^ast  was  his  empire,  absolute  his  power, 

Or  bounded  only  by  a  law,  whose  force 

'Twas  his  sublimest  privilege  to  feel 

And  own,  the  law  of  universal  love. 

He  ruled  with  meekness,  they  obeyed  with  joy ; 

No  cruel  purpose  lurked  within  his  heart, 

And  no  distrust  of  his  intent  in  theirs. 

So  Eden  was  a  scene  of  harmless  sport, 

Where  kindness  on  his  part  who  ruled  the  whole, 

Begat  a  tranquil  confidence  in  all, 

And  fear  as  yet  was  not,  nor  cause  for  fear. 

But  sin  marred  all ;  and  the  revolt  of  man, 

That  source  of  evils  not  exhausted  yet, 

Was  punished  with  revolt  of  his  from  him. 

Garden  of  God,  how  terrible  the  change 

Thy  groves  and  lawns  then  witnessed !     Every  heart 

Each  animal,  of  every  name,  conceived 

A  jealousy,  and  an  instinctive  fear, 

And,  conscious  of  some  danger,  either  fled 

Precipitate  the  loathed  abode  of  man, 

Or  growled  defiance  in  such  angry  sort, 

As  taught  him  too  to  tremble  in  his  turn. 

Thus  harmony  and  family  accord 

Were  driven  from  Paradise  ;  and  in  that  hour 

The  seeds  of  cruelty,  that  since  have  swelled 

To  such  gigantic  and  enormous  growth, 

Were  sown  in  human  nature's  fruitful  soil. 

Hence  date  the  persecution  and  the  pain, 

That  man  inflicts  on  all  inferior  kinds, 

Regardless  of  their  plaints.     To  make  him  sport 

To  gratify  the  frenzy  of  his  wrath, 

Or  his  base  gluttony,  are  causes  good 

And  just  in  his  account,  why  bird  and  beast 

Should  suffer  torture,  and  the  streams  be  dyed 

With  blood  of  their  inhabitants  impaled. 

Earth  groans  beneath  the  burden  of  a  war 

Waged  with  defenceless  innocence,  while  he, 


290  THE    TASK. 

Not  satisfied  to  prey  on  all  around, 

Adds  tenfold  bitterness  to  death  by  pangs 

Needless,  and  first  torments  ere  he  devours. 

Now  happiest  they,  that  occupy  the  scenes 

The  most  remote  from  his  abhorred  resort, 

Whom  once,  as  delegate  of  God  on  earth, 

They  feared,  and  as  his  perfect  image  loved. 

The  wilderness  is  theirs,  with  all  its  caves, 

Its  hollow  glens,  its  thickets,  and  its  plains, 

Un visited  by  man.     There  they  are  free, 

And  howl  and  roar  as  likes  them,  uncontrolled : 

Nor  ask  his  leave  to  slumber  or  to  play. 

Wo  to  the  tyrant,  if  he  dare  intrude 

Within  the  confines  of  their  wild  domain : 

The  lion  tells  him — I  am  monarch  here — 

And,  if  he  spare  him,  spares  him  on  the  terms 

Of  royal  mercy,  and  through  generous  scorn 

To  rend  a  victim  trembling  at  his  foot. 

In  measure,  as  by  force  of  instinct  drawn, 

Or  by  necessity  constrained,  they  live 

Dependant  upon  man  ;  those  in  his  fields, 

These  at  his  crib,  and  some  beneath  his  roof. 

They  prove  too  often  at  how  dear  a  rate 

He  sells  protection. — Witness  at  his  foot 

The  spaniel  dying  for  some  venial  fault, 

Under  dissection  of  the  knotted  scourge  • 

Witness  the  patient  ox,  with  stripes  and  yells 

Driven  to  the  slaughter,  goaded,  as  he  runs, 

To  madness  ;  while  the  savage  at  his  heels 

Laughs  at  the  frantic  sufferer's  fury,  spent 

Upon  the  guiltless  passenger  overthrown. 

He  too  is  witness,  noblest  of  the  train 

That  wait  on  man,  the  flight-performing  horse ; 

W :;:.  unsuspecting  readiness  he  takes 

His  murderer  on  his  back,  and  pushed  all  day 

With  bleeding  sides  and  flanks,  that  heave  for  life, 

To  the  far-distant  goal,  a1  rives  and  dies. 

So  little  mercy  shows  who  needs  so  much  ! 


THE    TASK.  291 

Does  law,  so  jealous  in  the  cause  of  man, 
Denounce  no  doom  on  the  delinquent  ?     None, 
He  lives,  and  o'er  his  brimming  beaker  boasts 
(As  if  barbarity  were  high  desert) 
Th'  inglorious  feat,  and  clamorous  in  praise 
Of  the  poor  brute,  seems  w'sely  to  suppose 
The  honours  of  his  matchless  horse  his  own. 
But  many  a  crime,  deemed  innocent  on  earth, 
Is  registered  in  heaven ;  and  these  no  doubt 
Have  each  their  record,  with  a  curse  annexed. 
Man  may  dismiss  compassion  from  his  heart, 
But  God  will  never.     When  he  charged  the  Je^ 
T"  assist  his  foe's  down-fallen  beast  to  rise ; 
And  when  the  bush-exploring  boy,  that  seized 
The  young,  to  let  the  parent  bird  go  free ; 
Proved  he  not  plainly,  that  his  meaner  works 
Are  yet  his  care,  and  have  an  interest  all, 
All,  in  the  universal  Father's  love  ? 
On  Noah,  and  in  him  on  all  mankind, 
The  charter  was  conferred,  by  which  we  hold 
The  flesh  of  animals  in  fee,  and  claim 
O'er  all  we  feed  on,  power  of  life  and  death. 
But  read  the  instrument  and  mark  it  well : 
Th'  oppression  of  a  tyrannous  control 
Can  find  no  warrant  there.     Feed  then,  and  yield 
Thanks  for  thy  food.     Carnivorous,  through  sin, 
Feed  on  the  slain,  but  spare  the  living  brute ! 

The  Governor  of  all,  himself  to  all 
So  bountiful,  in  whose  attentive  ear 
The  unfledged  raven  and  the  lion's  whelp 
Plead  not  in  vain  for  pity  on  the  pangs 
Of  hunger  unassuaged,  has  interposed, 
Not  seldom,  his  avenging  arm,  to  smite 
Th'  injurious  trampler  upon  nature's  law, 
That  claims  forbearance  even  for  a  brute. 
He  hates  the  hardiness  of  Balaam's  heart , 
And  prophet  as  he  was,  he  might  not  strike 
The  blameless  animal,  without  rebuke, 


202  THE  TASK. 

On  which  he  rode.     Her  opportune  offence 

Saved  him,  or  th7  unrelenting  seer  had  died. 

He  sees  that  human  equity  is  slack 

To  interfere,  though  in  so  just  a  cause  ; 

And  makes  the  task  his  own.     Inspiring  dumb 

And  helpless  victims  with  a  sense  so  keen 

Of  injury,  with  such  knowledge  of  their  strength, 

And  such  sagacity  to  take  revenge, 

That  oft  the  beast  has  seemed  to  judge  the  man. 

An  ancient,  not  a  legendary  tale, 

By  one  of  sound  intelligence  rehearsed, 

(If  such  who  plead  for  Providence  may  seem 

In  modern  eyes,)  shall  make  the  doctrine  clear. 

Where  England,  stretched  towards  the  setting  sun, 
Narrow  and  long,  o'erlooks  the  western  wave, 
Dwelt  young  Misgathus ;  a  scorner  he 
Of  God  and  goodness,  atheist  in  ostent, 
Vicious  in  act,  in  temper  savage -fierce. 
He  journeyed ;  and  his  chance  was,  as  he  went, 
To  join  a  traveller,  of  far  different  note, 
Evander,  famed  for  piety,  for  years 
Deserving  honour,  but  for  wisdom  more. 
Fame  had  not  left  the  venerable  man 
A  stranger  to  the  manners  of  the  youth, 
Whose  face  too  was  familiar  to  his  view. 
Their  way  was  on  the  margin  of  the  land, 
O'er  the  green  summit  of  the  rocks,  whose  base 
Beats  back  the  roaring  surge,  scarce  heard  so  high. 
The  charity,  that  warmed  his  heart,  was  moved 
At  sight  of  the  man  monster.     With  a  smile, 
Gentle,  and  affable,  and  full  of  grace, 
As  fearful  of  offending  whom  he  wished 
Much  to  persuade,  he  plied  his  ear  with  truths 
Not  harshly  thundered  forth,  or  rudely  pressed, 
But,  like  his  purpose,  gracious,  kind,  and  sweet. 
*'  And  dost  thou  dream,"  th'  impenetrable  man 
Exclaimed,  "  that  me  lullabies  of  age, 
And.  fantasies  of  dotards  such  as  thou, 


THE  TASK.  293 

Can  cheat,  or  move  a  moment's  fear  in  me  ? 

Mark  now  the  proof  I  give  thee,  that  the  brave 

Need  no  such  aids  as  superstition  lends, 

To  steel  their  hearts  against  the  dread  of  death/1 

He  spoke,  and  to  the  precipice  at  hand 

Pushed  with  a  madman's  fury.     Fancy  shrinks 

And  the  blood  thrills  and  curdles,  at  the  thought 

Of  such  a  guif  as  he  designed  his  grave. 

But,  though  the  felon  on  his  back  could  dare 

The  dreadful  leap,  more  rational,  his  steed 

Declined  the  death,  and  wheeling  swiftly  round, 

Or  e'er  his  hoof  had  pressed  the  crumbling  verge, 

Baffled  his  rider,  saved  against  his  will. 

The  frenzy  of  the  brain  may  be  redressed 

By  medicine  well  applied,  but  without  grace 

The  heart's  insanity  admits  no  cure. 

Enraged  the  more,  by  what  might  have  reformed 

His  horrible  intent,  again  he  sought 

Destruction,  with  a  zeal  to  be  destroyed, 

With  sounding  whip,  and  rowels  dyed  in  blood. 

But  still  in  vain.     The  providence  that  meant 

A  longer  date  to  the  far  nobler  beast, 

Spared  yet  again  th'  ignoble  for  his  sake. 

And  now,  his  prowess  proved,  and  his  sincere 

Incurable  obduracy  evinced, 

His  rage  grew  cool ;    and,  pleased  perhaps  t'  have 

earned 

So  cheaply  the  renown  of  that  attempt, 
With  looks  of  some  complacence  he  resumed 
His  road,  deriding  much  the  blank  amaze 
Of  good  Evander,  still  where  he  was  left 
Fixed  motionless,  and  petrified  with  dread. 
So  on  they  fared.     Discourse  on  other  themes 
Ensuing  seemed  t'  obliterate  the  past ; 
Arid  tamer  far  for  so  much  fury  shown, 
(As  in  the  course  of  rash  and  fiery  men) 
The  rude  companion  smiled,  as  if  transformed. 
But  'twas  a  transient  calm.     A  storm  was  near, 
25* 


294  THE  TASK. 

An  unsuspected  storm.     His  hour  was  come, 

The  impious  challenger  of  power  divine 

Was  now  to  learn,  that  Heaven     though  slow   to 

wrath, 

Is  never  with  impunity  defied. 
His  horse,  as  he  had  caught  his  master's  mood, 
Snorting,  and  starting  into  sudden  rage, 
Unbidden,  and  not  now  to  be  controlled, 
Rushed  to  the  cliff,  and,  having  reached  it,  stood. 
At  once  the  shock  unseated  him ;  he  flew 
Sheer  o'er  the  craggy  barrier  ;  and,  immersed 
Deep  in  the  flood,  found,  when  he  sought  it  not, 
The  death  he  had  deserved,  and  died  alone. 
So  God  wrought  double  justice  ;  made  the  fool 
The  victim  of  his  own  tremendous  choice, 
And  taught  a  brute  the  way  to  safe  revenge. 
I  would  not  enter  on  my  list  of  friends 
(Though   graced  with  polished  manners  and  fin6 

sense, 

sYet  wanting  sensibility)  the  man 
Who  needlessly  sets  foot  upon  a  worm. 
An  inadvertent  step  may  crush  the  snail, 
That  crawls  at  evening  in  the  public  path ; 
But  he  that  has  humanity,  forewarned, 
Will  tread  aside,  and  let  the  reptile  live. 
The  creeping  vermin,  loathsome  to  the  sight, 
And  charged  perhaps  with  venom,  that  intrudes, 
A  visiter  unwelcome,  into  scenes 
Sacred  to  neatness  and  repose,  th'  alcove, 
The  chamber,  or  refectory,  may  die : 
A  necessary  act  incurs  no  blame. 
Not  so  when,  held  within  their  proper  bounds, 
And  guiltless  of  offence,  they  range  the  air, 
Or  take  their  pastime  in  the  spacious  field  ; 
There  they  are  privileged  ;  and  he  that  hunts 
Or  harms  them  there  is  guilty  of  a  wrong, 
Disturbs  the  economy  of  Nature's  realm, 
Who,  when  she  formed,  designed  them  an  abode. 


THE   TASK.  295 

The  sum  is  this.     If  man's  convenience,  health, 

Or  safety,  interfere,  his  rights  and  claims 

Are  paramount,  and  must  extinguish  theirs. 

Else  they  are  all — the  meanest  things  that  are— 

As  free  to  live,  and  to  enjoy  that  life, 

As  God  was  free  to  form  them  at  the  first, 

Who  in  his  sovereign  wisdom  made  them  all. 

Ye,  therefore,  who  love  mercy,  teach  your  sons 

To  love  it  too.     The  springtime  of  our  years 

Is  soon  dishonoured  and  defiled  in  most 

By  budding  ills,  and  ask  a  prudent  hand 

io  check  them.     But  alas  !  none  sooner  shoots, 

If  unrestrained,  into  luxuriant  growth, 

Than  cruelty,  most  devilish  of  them  all. 

Mercy  to  him  that  shows  it,  is  the  rule 

And  righteous  limitation  of  its  act, 

By  which  Heaven  moves  in  pardoning  guilty  man ; 

And  he  that  shows  none,  being  ripe  in  years, 

And  conscious  of  the  outrage  he  commits, 

Shall  seek  it,  and  not  find  it,  in  his  turn. 

Distinguished  much  by  reason,  and  still  more 
By  our  capacity  of  grace  divine, 
From  creatures,  that  exist  but  for  our  sake, 
Which,  having  served  us,  perish,  we  are  held 
Accountable  ;  and  God  some  future  day 
Will  reckon  with  us  roundly  for  the  abuse 
Of  what  he  deems  no  mean  or  trivial  trust. 
Superior  as  we  are,  they  yet  depend 
Not  more  on  human  help  than  we  on  theirs. 
Their  strength,  or  speed,  or  vigilance  were  given 
In  aid  of  our  defects.     In  some  are  found 
Such  teachable  and  apprehensive  parts, 
That  man's  attainments  in  his  own  concerns, 
Matched  with  th'  expertness  of  the  brutes  in  theirs, 
Are  ofttimes  vanquished,  and  thrown  far  behind. 
Some  show  that  nice  sagacity  of  smell, 
And  read  with  such  dircern merit,  in  the  port 
And  figure  of  the  man  his  secret  aim, 


296  THE   TASK. 

That  oft  we  owe  our  safety  to  a  skill 

We  could  not  teach,  and  must  despair  to  learn ; 

But  learn  we  might,  if  not  too  proud  to  stoop 

To  quadruped  instructors,  many  a  good 

And  useful  quality,  and  virtue  too, 

Rarely  exemplified  among  ourselves  ; 

Attachment  never  to  be  weaned,  or  changed 

By  any  change  of  fortune ;  proof  alike 

Against  unkindness,  absence,  and  neglect ; 

Fidelity,  that  neither  bribe  nor  threat 

Can  move  or  warp ;  and  gratitude  for  small 

And  trivial  favours,  lasting  as  the  life, 

And  glistening  even  in  the  dying  eye. 

Man  praises  man.     Desert  in  arts  or  arms 

Wins  public  honour  ;  and  ten  thousand  sit 

Patiently  present  at  a  sacred  song, 

Commemoration-mad  ;  content  to  hear 

(O  wonderful  effect  of  music's  power  !) 

Messiah's  eulogy  for  Handel's  sake. 

But  less,  methinks,  than  sacrilege  might  serve — 

(For,  was  it  less,  what  heathen  would  have  dared 

To  strip  Jove's  statue  of  his  oaken  wreath, 

And  hang  it  up  in  honour  of  a  man  ?) 

Much  less  might  serve,  when  all  that  we  design 

Is  but  to  gratify  an  itching  ear, 

And  give  the  day  to  a  musician's  praise. 

Remember  Handel  ?     Who,  that  was  not  born 

Deaf  as  the  dead  to  harmony,  forgets, 

Or  can,  the  more  than  Homer  of  his  age  ? 

Yes — we  remember  him :  and  while  we  praise 

A  talent  so  divine,  remember  too 

That  His  most  holy  book,  from  whom  it  came, 

Was  n&ver  meant,  was  never  used  before, 

To  buckram  out  the  memory  of  a  man. 

But  hush  ! — the  muse  perhaps  is  too  severe ; 

And  with  a  gravity  beyond  the  size 

And  measure  of  th'  offence,  rebukes  a  deed 

Less  impious  than  absurd,  and  owing  more 


THE  TASK.  297 

To  want  of  judgment  than  to  wrong  design. 

So  in  the  chapel  of  old  Ely  House, 

When  wandering  Charles,  who  meant  to  be  the  third, 

Had  fled  from  William,  and  the  news  was  fresh, 

The  simple  clerk,  but  loyal,  did  announce, 

And  eke  did  rear  right  merrily,  two  staves, 

Sung  to  the  praise  and  glory  of  King  George ! 

— Man  praises  man  ;  and  Garrick's  memory  next, 

When  time  had  somewhat  mellowed  it,  and  made 

The  idol  of  our  worship  while  he  lived 

The  God  of  our  idolatry  once  more, 

Shall  have  its  altar ;  and  the  world  shall  go 

In  pilgrimage  to  bow  before  his  shrine. 

The  theatre  too  small  shall  suffocate 

Its  squeezed  contents,  and  more  than  it  admits 

Shall  sigh  at  their  exclusion,  and  return 

Ungratified :  for  there  some  noble  lord 

Shall  stuff  his  shoulders  with  king  Richard's  bunch, 

Or  wrap  himself  in  Hamlet's  inky  cloak, 

And  strut  and  storm,  aaid  straddle,  stamp  and  stare, 

To  show  the  world  how  Garrick  did  not  act, 

For  Garrick  was  a  worshipper  himself; 

He  drew  the  liturgy,  and  framed  the  rights 

And  solemn  ceremonials  of  the  day, 

And  called  the  world  to  worship  on  the  banks 

Of  Avon,  famed  in  song.     Ah,  pleasant  proof 

That  piety  has  still  in  human  hearts 

Some  place,  a  spark  or  two  not  yet  extinct. 

The  mulberry-tree  was  hung  with  blooming  wreaths; 

The  mulberry-tree  stood  centre  of  the  dance ; 

The  mulberry-tree  was  hymned  with  dulcet  airs  ; 

And  from  his  touchwood  trunk  the  mulberry-tree 

Supplied  such  relics  as  devotion  holds 

Still  sacred,  and  preserves  with  pious  care. 

So  'twas  a  hallowed  time :  decorum  reigned, 

And  mirth  without  offence.     No  few  returned, 

Doubtless,  much  edified,  and  all  refreshed. — 

Man  praises  man.     The  rabble  all  alive 


298  THE   TASK. 

From  tippling  benches,  cellars,  stalls,  and  styes, 
Swarm  in  the  streets.     The  statesman  of  the  day. 
A  pompous  and  slow-moving  pageant,  comes. 
Some  shout  him,  and  some  hang  upon  his  car, 
To  gaze  in  's  eyes,  and  bless  him.     Maidens  wave 
Their  'kerchiefs,  and  old  women  weep  for  joy  : 
While  others,  not  so  satisfied,  unhorse 
The  gilded  equipage,  and,  turning  loose 
His  steeds,  usurp  a  place  they  well  deserve. 
Why?  what  has  charmed  them?  Hath  he  saved  the 

state  ? 

No.     Doth  he  purpose  its  salvation  ?     No. 
Enchanting  novelty,  that  moon  at  full, 
That  finds  out  every  crevice  of  the  head 
That  is  not  sound  and  perfect,  hath  in  theirs 
Wrought  this  disturbance.     But  the  wane  is  near, 
And  his  own  cattle  must  suffice  him  soon. 
Thus  idly  do  we  waste  the  breath  of  praise, 
And  dedicate  a  tribute,  in  its  use 
And  just  direction  sacred,  to  a  thing 
Doomed  to  the  dust  or  lodged  already  there. 
Encomium  in  old  time  was  poet's  work  ; 
But  poets,  having  lavishly  long  since 
Exhausted  all  materials  of  the  art, 
The  task  now  falls  into  the  public  hand  ; 
And  I,  contented  with  an  humbler  theme, 
"  Have  poured  my  stream  of  panegyric  down 
The  vale  of  Nature,  where  it  creeps,  and  winds 
Among  her  lovely  works  with  a  secure 
And  unambitious  course,  reflecting  clear, 
If  not  the  virtues,  yet  the  worth,  of  brutes. 
And  I  am  recompensed,  and  deem  the  toils 
Of  poetry  not  lost,  if  verse  of  mine 
May  stand  between  an  animal  and  wo, 
And  teach  one  tyrant  pity  for  his  drudge. 

The  groans  of  Nature  in  this  nether  world, 
Which  Heaven  has  heard  for  ages,  have  an  end. 
Foretold  by  prophets,  and  by  poet's  sung. 


*     ^<*u» 

THE  TASK.  29 

Whose  fire  was  kindled  at  the  prophet's  lamp, 
The  time  of  rest,  the  promised  sabbath,  comes. 
Six  thousand  years  of  sorrow  have  well-nigh 
Fulfilled  their  tardy  and  disastrous  course 
Over  a  sinful  world  ;  and  what  remains 
Of  this  tempestuous  state  of  human  things 
Is  merely  as  the  working  of  a  sea 
Before  a  calm,  that  rocks  itself  to  rest : 
For  He,  whose  car  the  winds  are,  and  the  clouds 
The  dust  that  waits  upon  his  sultry  march, 
When  sin  hath  moved  them,  and  his  wrath  is  hot, 
Shall  visit  earth  in  mercy  ;  shall  descend 
Propitious  in  his  chariot  paved  with  love  ; 
And  what  his  storms  have  blasted  and  defaced 
For  man's  revolt  shall  with  a  smile  repair. 

Sweet  is  the  harp  of  prophecy ;  too  sweet 
Not  to  be  wronged  by  a  mere  mortal  touch  : 
Nor  can  the  wonders  it  records  be  sung 
To  meaner  music,  and  not  suffer  loss. 
But  when  a  poet,  or  when  one  Jke  me, 
Happy  to  rove  among  poetic  flowers, 
Though  poor  in  skill  to  rear  them,  lights  at  last, 
On  some  fair  theme,  some  theme  divinely  fair, 
Such  is  the  impulse  and  the  spur  he  feels, 
To  give  it  praise  proportioned  to  its  worth, 
That  not  t'  attempt  it,  arduous  as  he  deems 
The  labour,  were  a  task  more  arduous  still. 

O  scenes  surpassing  fable,  and  yet  true, 
Scenes  of  accomplished  bliss  !  which  who  can  see, 
Though  but  in  distant  prospect,  and  not  feel 
His  soul  refreshed  with  foretaste  of  the  joy  ? 
Rivers  of  gladness  water  all  the  earth, 
And  clothe  all  climes  with  beauty  ;  the  reproach 
Of  barrenness  is  past.     The  fruitful  field 
Laughs  with  abundance  ;  and  the  land,  once  lean, 
Or  fertile  only  in  its  own  disgrace, 
Exults  to  see  its  thistly  curse  repealed / 
The  various  seasons  woven  into  one, 


300  THE  TASK. 

And  that  one  season  an  eternal  spring. 

The  garden  fears  no  blight,  and  needs  no  fence, 

For  there  is  none  to  covet,  all  are  full. 

The  lion,  and  the  libbard,  and  the  bear 

Graze  with  the  fearless  flocks  ;  all  bask  at  noon 

Together,  or  all  gambol  in  the  shade 

Of  the  same  grove,  and  drink  one  common  stream. 

Antipathies  are  none.     No  foe  to  man 

Lurks  in  the  serpent  now ;  the  mother  sees, 

And  smiles  to  see,  her  infant-s  playful  hand 

Stretched  forth  to  dally  with  the  crested  worm, 

To  stroke  his  azure  neck,  or  to  receive 

The  lambent  homage  of  his  arrowy  tongue. 

All  creatures  worship  man,  and  all  mankind 

One  Lord,  one  Father.     Error  has  no  place  : 

That  creeping  pestilence  is  driven  away ;  ^ 

The  breath  of  heaven  has  chased  it.     In  the  heart 

No  passion  touches  a  discordant  string, 

But  all  is  harmony  and  love.     Disease 

Is  not ;  the  pure  and  uncontaminate  blood 

Holds  its  due  course,  nor  fears  the  frost  of  age. 

One  song  employs  all  nations  ;  and  all  cry, 

"  Worthy  the  Lamb,  for  he  was  slain  for  us !" 

The  dwellers  in  the  vales  and  on  the  rocks 

Shout  to  each  other,  and  the  mountain  tops 

From  distant  mountains  catch  the  flying  joy  ; 

Till,  nation  after  nation  taught  the  strain, 

Earth  rolls  the  rapturous  hosanna  round. 

Behold  the  measure  of  the  promise  filled ; 

See  Salem  built,  the  labour  of  a  God  ! 

Bright  as  the  sun  the  sacred  city  shines  ; 

All  kingdoms  and  all  princes  of  the  earth 

Flock  to  that  light ;  the  glory  of  all  la  ads 

Flows  into  her  ;  unbounded  is  her  joy, 

And  endless  her  increase.     Thy  rams  are  there, 

Nebaioth,  and  the  flocks  of  Kedar  there  :* 

*  Nebaioth  and  Kedar,  the  sons  of  Ishmael,  and  progenitors  of  the 
Arabs,  in  the  prophetic  scripture  here  alluded  to,  may  be  reasonably 
considered  as  representatives  of  the  Gentiles  at  lanje. 


THE  TASK.  301 

The  looms  of  Ormus,  and  the  mines  of  Ind, 
And  Saba's  spicy  groves  pay  tribute  there. 
Praise  is  in  all  her  gates  ;  upon  her  walls, 
And  in  her  streets,  and  in  her  spacious  courts 
Is  heard  salvation.     Eastern  Java  theje 
Kneels  with  the  native  of  the  farthest  west ; 
And  ^Ethiopia  spreads  abroad  the  hand, 
And  worships.     Her  report  has  travelled  forth 
Into  all  lands.     From  every  clime  they  come 
To  see  thy  beauty,  and  to  share  thy  joy, 
O  Sion  !  an  assembly  such  as  earth 
Saw  never,  such  as  heaven  stoops  down  to  see. 
Thus  heavenward  all  things  tend.     For  all  were 

once 

Perfect,  and  all  must  be  at  length  restored. 
So  God  has  greatly  purposed  ;  who  could  else 
In  his  dishonoured  works  himself  endure 
Dishonour,  and  be  wronged  without  redress. 
Haste  then,  and  wheel  away  a  shattered  worlc^ 
Ye  slow-revolving  seasons  !  we  would  see 
(A  sight  to  which  our  eyes  are  strangers  yet) 
A  world,  that  does  not  dread  and  hate  his  laws, 
And  suffer  for  its  crime  ;  would  learn  how  fair 
The  creature  is  that  God  pronounces  good, 
How  pleasant  in  itself  what  pleases  him. 
Here  every  drop  of  honey  hides  a  sting ; 
Worms  wind  themselves  into  our  sweetest  flowers , 
And  e'en  the  joy,  that  haply  some  poor  heart 
Derives  from  Heaven,  pure  as  the  fountain  is, 
Is  sullied  in  the  stream,  taking  a  taint 
From  touch  of  human  lips,  at  best  impure. 
O  for  a  world  in  principle  as  chaste 
As  this  is  gross  and  selfish  !  over  which 
Custom  and  prejudice  shall  bear  no  sway, 
That  govern  all  things  here,  shouldering  aside 
The  meek  and  modest  Truth,  and  forcing  her 
To  seek  a  refuge  from  the  tongue  of  strife 
In  nooks  obscure,  far  from  the  ways  of  men  j 
26 


302  THE    TASK. 

Where  violence  shall  never  lift  the  sword, 
Nor  cunning  justify  the  proud  man's  wrong, 
Leaving  the  poor  no  remedy  but  tears ; 
Where  he  that  fills  an  office,  shall  esteem 
Th'  occasion  it  presents  of  doing  good 
More  than  the  perquisite  :  where  law  shall  speak 
Seldom,  and  never  but  as  wisdom  prompts 
And  equity  !  not  jealous  more  to  guard 
A  worthless  form,  than  to  decide  aright : 
Where  fashion  shall  not  sanctify  abuse, 
Nor  smooth  good-breeding  (supplemental  grace) 
With  lean  performance  ape  the  work  of  love  ! 
Come  then,  and  added  to  thy  many  crowns, 
Receive  yet  one,  the  crown  of  all  the  earth, 
Thou  who  alone  art  worthy  !     It  was  thine 
By  ancient  covenant,  ere  Nature's  birth  ; 
And  thou  hast  made  it  thine  by  purchase  since, 
And  overpaid  its  value  with  thy  blood. 
Thy  saints  proclaim  thee  king ;  and  in  their  hearts 
Thy  title  is  engraven  with  a  pen 
Dipped  in  the  fountain  of  eternal  love. 
Thy  saints  proclaim  thee  king  ;  and  thy  delay 
Gives  courage  to  their  foes,  who,  could  they  see 
The  dawn  of  thy  last  advent,  long-desired. 
Would  creep  into  the  bowels  of  the  hills, 
And  flee  for  safety  to  the  falling  rocks. 
The  very  spirit  of  the  world  is  tired 
Of  its  own  taunting  question,  asked  so  long, 
"  Where  is  the  promise  of  your  Lord's  approach  ? 
The  infidel  has  shot  his  bolts  away, 
Till,  his  exhausted  quiver  yielding  none, 
He  gleams  the  blunted  shafts,  that  have  recoiled, 
And  aims  them  at  the  shield  of  Truth  again. 
The  veil  is  rent,  rent  too  by  priestly  hands, 
That  hides  divinity  from  mortal  eyes ; 
And  all  the  mysteries  to  faith  proposed, 
Insulted  and  traduced,  are  cast  aside. 
As  useless,  to  the  moles  and  to  the  bats. 


THE    TASK.  303 

They  now  are  deemed  the  faithful,  and  are  praised, 
Who  constant  only  in  rejecting  thee, 
Deny  thy  Godhead  with  a  martyr's  zeal, 
And  quit  their  office  for  their  error's  sake. 
Blind,  and  in  love  with  darkness  !  yet,  e'en  these 
Worthy,  compared  with  sycophants,  who  knee 
Thy  name  adoring,  and  then  preach  thee  man  ! 
So  fares  thy  church.     But  how  thy  church  may  fare 
The  world    takes    little  thought.     Who    will    may 

preach, 

And  what  they  will.     All  pastors  are  alike 
To  wandering  sheep,  resolved  to  follow  none. 
Two  gods  divide  them  all — Pleasure  and  Gain ; 
For  these  they  live,  they  sacrifice  to  these, 
And  in  their  service  wage  perpetual  war 
With  conscience  and  with  thee.     Lust  in  their  hearts, 
And  mischief  in  their  hands,  they  roam  the  earth 
To  prey  upon  each  other  :  stubborn,  fierce, 
High-minded,  foaming  out  their  own  disgrace. 
Thy  prophets  speak  of  such  ;  and,  noting  down 
The  features  of  the  last  degenerate  times, 
Exhibit  every  lineament  of  these. 
Come  then,  and,  added  to  thy  many  crowns, 
Receive  yet  one,  as  radiant  as  the  rest, 
Due  to  thy  last  and  most  effectual  work, 
Thy  word  fulfilled,  the  conquest  of  a  world  ! 
He  is  the  happy  man,  whose  life  e'en  now 
Shows  somewhat  of  that  happier  life  to  come 
Who,  doomed  to  an  obscure  but  tranquil  state, 
Is  pleased  with  it,  and,  were  he  free  to  choose, 
Would  make  his  fate  his  choice  ;  whom  peace,  the 

fruit 

Of  virtue,  and  whom  virtue,  fruit  of  faith, 
Prepare  for  happiness ;  bespeak  him  one 
Content  indeed  to  sojourn  while  he  must, 
Below  the  skies,  but  having  there  his  home. 
The  world  o'erkoks  him  in  her  busy  search 
Of  objects,  more  illustrious  in  her  view ; 


304  THE  TASK. 

And,  occupied  as  earnestly  as  she, 

Though  more  sublimely,  he  o'erlooks  the  world. 

She  scorns  his  pleasures,  for  she  knows  them  not ; 

He  seeks  not  hers,  for  he  has  proved  them  vain. 

He  cannot  skim  the  ground  like  summer  birds 

Pursuing  gilded  flies  ;  and  such  she  deems 

Her  honours,  her  emoluments,  her  joys. 

Therefore  in  contemplation  is  his  bliss, 

Whose  power  is  such,  that  whom  she  lifts  from  earth 

She  makes  familiar  with  a  heaven  unseen, 

And  shows  him  glories  yet  to  be  revealed. 

Not  slothful  he,  though  seeming  unemployed, 

And  censured  oft  as  useless.     Stillest  streams 

Oft  water  fairest  meadows,  and  the  bird 

That  flutters  least  is  longest  on  the  wing. 

Ask  him,  indeed,  what  trophies  he  has  raised, 

Or  what  achievements  of  immortal  fame 

He  purposes,  and  he  shall  answer — None. 

His  warfare  is  within.     There  unfatigued 

His  fervent  spirit  labours.     There  he  fights, 

And  there  obtains  fresh  triumphs  o'er  himself, 

And  never- withering  wreaths,  compared  with  which, 

The  laurels  that  a  Caesar  reaps  are  weeds. 

Perhaps  the  self-approving  haughty  world, 

That  as  she  sweeps  him  with  her  whistling  silks 

Scarce  designs  to  notice  him,  or,  if  she  see, 

Deems  him  a  cipher  in  the  works  of  God, 

Receives  advantage  from  his  noiseless  hours, 

Of  whioh  she  little  dreams.     Perhaps  she  owes 

Her  sunshine  and  her  rain,  her  blooming  spring, 

And  plenteous  harvest,  to  the  prayer  he  makes, 

When,  Isaac  like,  the  solitary  saint 

Walks  forth  to  meditate  at  eventide, 

And  think  on  her,  who  thinks  not  for  herself. 

Forgive  him  then,  thou  bustler  in  concerns 

Of  little  worth,  and  idler  in  the  best, 

If,  author  of  no  mischief  and  some  good, 

He  seek  his  proper  happiness  by  means 


THETASK. 

That  may  advance,  but  cannot  hinder,  thine. 
Nor,  though  he  tread  the  secret  path  of  life, 
Engage  no  notice,  and  enjoy  much  ease, 
Account  him  an  encumbrance  on  the  state, 
Receiving  benefits,  and  rendering  none. 
His  sphere  though  humble,  if  that  humble  spherr 
Shine  with  his  fair  example,  and  though  small 
His  influence,  if  that  influence  all  be  spent 
In  soothing  sorrow,  and  in  quenching  strife, 
In  aiding  helpless  indigence,  in  works. 
From  which  at  least  a  grateful  few  derive 
Some  taste  of  comfort  in  a  world  of  wo ; 
Then  let  the  supercilious  great  confess 
He  serves  his  country,  recompenses  well 
The  state,  beneath  the  shadow  of  whose  vine 
He  sits  secure,  and  in  the  scale  of  life 
Holds  no  ignoble,  though  a  slighted,  place. 
The  man  whose  virtues  are  more  felt  than  seen, 
Must  drop  indeed  the  hope  of  public  praise  ; 
But  he  may  boast,  what  few  that  win  it  can, 
That  if  his  country  stand  not  by  his  skill, 
At  least  his  follies  have  not'  wrought  her  fall. 
Polite  Refinement  offers  him  in  vain 
Her  golden  tube,  through  which  a  sensual  world 
Draws  gross  impurity,  and  likes  it  well, 
The  neat  conveyance  hiding  all  th'  offence. 
Not  that  he  peevishly  rejects  a  mode 
Because  that  world  adopts  it.     If  it  bear 
The  stamp  and  clear  impression  of  good  sense, 
And  be  not  costly  more  than  of  true  worth, 
He  puts  it  on,  and  for  decorum  sake 
Can  wear  it  e'en  as  gracefully  as  she. 
She  judges  of  refinement  by  the  eye, 
He  by  the  test  of  conscience,  and  a  heart 
Not  soon  deceived  ;  aware  that  what  is  base    " 
No  polish  can  make  sterling ;  and  that  vice, 
Though  well  perfumed  and  elegantly  dressed, 
Like  an  unburied  carcase  tricked  wit  i  flowers, 
26* 


306  THE  TASK. 

Is  but  a  garnished  nuisance,  fitter  far 
For  cleanly  riddance,  than  for  fair  attire. 
So  life  glides  smoothly  and  by  stealth  away 
More  golden  than  that  age  of  fabled  gold 
Renowned  in  ancient  song  ;  not  vexed  with  care 
Or  stained  with  guilt,  beneficent,  approved 
Of  God  and  man,  and  peaceful  in  its  end. 
So  glide  my  life  away,  and  so  at  last, 
My  share  of  duties  decently  fulfilled, 
May  some  disease,  not  tardy  to  perform 
Its  destined  office,  yet  with  gentle  stroke, 
Dismiss  me  weary  to  a  safe  retreat, 
Beneath  the  turf  that  I  have  often  trod. 

It  shall  not  grieve  me  then,  that  once,  when  called 
To  dress  a  Sofa  with  the  flowers  of  verse, 
I  played  awhile,  obedient  to  the  fair, 
With  that  light  task ;  but  soon,  to  please  her  more. 
Whom  flowers  alone  I  knew  would  little  please, 
Let  fall  th'  unfinished  wreath,  and  roved  for  fruit ; 
Roved  far  and  gathered  much  :  some  harsh,  'tis  true, 
Picked  from  the  thorns  and  briers  of  reproof, 
But  wholesome,  well  digested,  grateful  some  • 
To  palates  that  can  taste  immortal  truth  ; 
Insipid  else,  and  sure  to  be  despised ; 
But  all  is  in  His  handfwhose  praise  I  seek. 
In  vain  the  poet  sings,  and  the  world  hedx3. 
If  He  regard  not,  though  divine  the  theme. 
?Tis  not  in  artful  measures,  in  the  chime 
And  idle  tinkling  of  a  minstrel's  lyre, 
To  charm  his  ear,  whose  eye  is  on  the  heart , 
Whose  frown  can  disappoint  the  proudest  strain, 
Whose  approbation — prosper  even  mine, 


AN   EPISTLE,  &c.  307 

AN    EPISTLE 

TO 

JOSEPH    HILL,    ESO. 

DEAK  JOSEPH — five  and  twenty  years  ago — 
Alas,  how  time  escapes  ! — 'tis  even  so — 
With  frequent  intercourse,  and  always  sweet, 
And  always  friendly,  we  were  wont  to  cheat 
A  tedious  hour — and  now  we  never  meet ! 
As  some  grave  gentleman  in  Terence  says, 
('Twas  therefore  much  the  same  in  ancient  days) 
Good  lack,  we  know  not  what  to-morrow  brings — 
Strange  fluctuation  of  all  human  things  ! 
True.     Changes  will  befall,  and  friends  may  part, 
But  distance  only  cannot  change  the  heart : 
And,  were  I  called  to  prove  th'  assertion  true, 
One  proof  should  serve — a  reference  to  you. 

Whence  comes  it  then,  that  in  the  wane  of  life, 
Though  nothing  have  occurred  to  kindle  strife, 
We  find  the  friends  we  fancied  we  had  won, 
Though  numerous  once,  reduced  to  few  or  none  ? 
Dan  gold  grow  worthless,  that  has  stood  the  touch  ? 
No  ;  gold  they  seemed,  but  they  were  never  such. 

Horatio's  servant  once,  with  bow  and  cringe, 
Swinging  the  parlour  door  upon  its  hinge, 
Dreading  a  negative,  and  overawed 
Lest  he  should  trespass,  begged  to  go  abroad. 
Go,  fellow  ? — whither  ? — turning  short  about — 
Nay.     Stay  at  home — you're  always  going  out. 
7Tis  but  a  step  sir,  just  at  the  street's  end— 
For  what  ? — An  please  you,  sir,  to  see  a  friend. — . 
A  friend  !  Horatio  cried,  and  seemed  to  start — 
Yea,  marry  shalt  thou,  and  with  all  my  heart. — 
And  fetch  my  cloak  ;  for,  though  the  night  be  raw, 
I'll  see  him  too — the  first  I  ever  saw. 

I  knew  the  man,  and  knew  his  nature  mild, 


308  AN    EPISTLE,  &c. 

And  was  his  plaything  often  when  a  child  ; 
But  somewhat  at  that  moment  pinched  him  close, 
Else  he  was  seldom  bitter  or  morose. 
Perhaps  his  confidence  just  then  betrayed, 
His  grief  might  prompt  him  with  the  speech  he  made , 
Perhaps  'twas  mere  good  humour  gave  it  birth, 
The  harmless  play  of  pleasantry  and  mirth, 
Howe'er  it  was,  his  language,  in  my  mind, 
Bespoke  at  least  a  man  that  knew  mankind. 

But  not  to  moralize  too  much,  and  strain 
To  prove  an  evil,  of  which  all  complain, 
(I  hate  long  arguments  verbosely  spun) 
One  story  more,  dear  Hill,  and  I  have  done. 
Once  on  a  time  an  emperor,  a  wise  man, 
No  matter  where,  in  China,  or  Japan, 
Decreed,  that  whosoever  should  offend 
Against  the  well  known  duties  of  a  friend, 
Convicted  once  should  ever  after  wear 
But  half  a  coat,  and  show  his  bosom  bare. 
The  punishment  importing  this,  no  doubt, 
That  all  was  naught  within,  and  all  found  out. 

O  happy  Britain  !  we  have  not  to  fear 
Such  hard  and  arbitrary  measure  here ; 
Else,  could  a  law,  like  that  which  I  relate, 
Once  have  the  sanction  of  our  triple  state, 
Some  few,  that  I  have  known  in  days  of  old, 
Would  run  most  dreadful  risk  of  catching  cold  ; 
While  you,  my  friend,  whatever  wind  should  blow 
Might  traverse  England  safely  to  and  fro, 
An  honest  man,  close  buttoned  to  the  chin, 
Broadcloth  without,  and  a  warm  heart  within, 


TIROCINIUM,   Ac.  309 


TIROCINIUM: 

OR, 

A    REVIEW    OF    SCHOOLS. 

Ke^aXiov  tirj  vaifoiag  opOrj  rpn^r}.          Plato. 
A-PX*]  iroXirsias  airaarjs  vtiav  rpo0a.     Diog.  Laert. 

TO    THE 

REV.    WM.    CAWTHORNE    UNWIN, 

Rector  of  Stock  in  Essex,  the  tutor  of  his  two  sons,  the  following  poem,  recom- 
mending private  tuition,  in  preference  to  an  education  at  school,  is  inscribed 
by  his  affectionate  friend, 

Olncy,  Nov.  6th,  1784.  WILLIAM    COWPER. 

IT  is  not  from  his  form,  in  which  we  trace 
Strength  joined  with  beauty,  dignity  with  grace, 
That  man,  the  master  of  this  globe,  derives 
His  right  of  empire  over  all  that  lives. 
That  form  indeed,  th7  associate  of  a  mind 
Vast  in  its  powers,  ethereal  in  its  kind, 
That  form,  the  labour  of  almighty  skill, 
Framed  for  the  service  of  a  freeborn  will, 
Asserts  precedence,  and  bespeaks  control, 
But  borrows  all  its  grandeur  from  the  soul. 
Hers  is  the  state,  the  splendour,  and  the  throne, 
An  intellectual  kingdom,  all  her  own. 
For  her  the  Memory  fills  her  ample  page 
With  truths  poured  down  from  every  distant  age 
For  her  amasses  an  unbounded  store, 
The  wisdom  of  great  nations,  now  no  more  ; 
Though  laden,  not  encumbered  with  her  spoil , 
Laborious,  yet  unconscious  of  her  toil ; 
When  copiously  supplied,  then  most  enlarged ; 
Still  to  be  fed,  and  not  to  be  surcharged. 
For  her  the  Fancy,  roving  unconfined, 
The  present  muse  of  every  pensive  mind, 
Works  magic  wonders  ;  adds  a  brighter  hue 
To  Nature's  scenes  than  Nature  ever  knew. 


310  TIROCINIUM,   OR 

At  her  command  winds  rise,  and  waters  roar, 
Again  she  lays  them  slumbering  on  the  shore  , 
With  flower  and  fruit  the  wilderness  supplies, 
Or  bids  the  rocks  in  ruder  pomp  to  rise. 
For  her  the  Judgment,  umpire  in  the  strife, 
That  Grace  and  Nature  have  to  wage  through  life. 
Quick-sighted  arbiter  of  good  and  ill, 
Appointed  sage  preceptor  to  the  Will, 
Condemns,  approves,  and  with  a  faithful  voice 
Guides  the  decision  of  a  doubtful  choice. 

Why  did  the  fiat  of  a  God  give  birth 
To  yon  fair  Sun,  and  his  attendant  Earth  ? 
And,  when  descending,  he  resigns  the  skies, 
Why  takes  the  gentler  Moon  her  turn  to  rise, 
Whom  Ocean  feels  through  all  his  countless  wa»es 
And  owns  her  power  on  every  shore  he  laves  ? 
Why  do  the  seasons  still  enrich  the  year, 
Fruitful  and  young  as  in  their  first  career  ? 
Spring  hangs  her  infant  blossoms  on  the  trees, 
Rocked  in  the  cradle  of  the  western  breeze  ; 
Summer  in  haste  the  thriving  charge  receives 
Beneath  the  shade  of  her  expanded  leaves, 
Till  Autumn's  fiercer  heats  and  plenteous  dews 
Dye  them  at  last  in  all  their  glowing  hues. — 
'Twere  wild  confusion  all,  and  bootless  waste, 
Power  misemployed,  munificence  misplaced, 
Had  not  its  author  dignified  the  plan, 
And  crowned  it  with  the  majesty  of  man. 
Thus  formed,  .thus  placed,  intelligent,  and  taught, 
Look  where  he  will,  the  wonders  (Jod  has  wrought 
The  wildest  scorner  of  his  Maker's  laws 
Finds  in  a  sober  moment  time  to  pause, 
To  press  th'  important  question  on  his  heart, 
"  Why  formed  at  all,  and  wherefore  as  thou  art  V 
If  man  be  what  he  seems,  this  hour  a  slave, 
The  next  mere  dust  and  ashes  in  the  grave  ; 
Endued  with  reason  only  to  descry 
His  crimes  and  follies  with  an  aching  eye  ; 


A   REVIEW   OF    SCHOOLS.  311 

With  passions,  just  that  he  may  prove,  with  pain, 
The  force  he  spends  against  their  fury  vain  ; 
And  if,  soon  after  having  burnt,  by  turns, 
With  every  lust,  with  which  frail  Nature  burns, 
His  being  end,  where  death  dissolves  the  bond, 
The  tomb  take  all,  and  all  be  blank  beyond  ; 
Then  he,  of  all  that  Nature  has  brought  forth, 
Stands  self-impeached  the  creature  of  least  worth, 
And  useless  while  he  lives  and  when  he  dies, 
Brings  into  doubt  the  wisdom  of  the  skies. 

Truths,  that  the  learned  pursue  with  eager  though^ 
Are  not  important  always  as  dear-bought, 
Proving  at  last,  though  told  in  pompous  strains, 
A  childish  waste  of  philosophic  pains ; 
But  truths,  on  which  depends  our  main  concern, 
That  'tis  our  shame  and  misery  not  to  learn, 
Shine  by  the  side  of  every  path  we  tread 
With  such  a  lustre,  he  that  runs  may  read. 
:Tis  true  that,  if  to  trifle  life  away 
Down  to  the  sunset  of  their  latest  day, 
Then  perish  on  futurity's  wide  shore 
Like  fleeting  exhalations,  found  no  more, 
Were  all  that  Heaven  required  of  human  kind, 
And  all  the  plan  their  destiny  designed, 
What  none  could  reverence  all  might  justly  blame, 
And  man  would  breathe  but  for  his  Maker's  shame. 
But  reason  heard,  and  nature  well  perused, 
At  once  the  dreaming  mind  is  disabused. 
If  all  we  find  possessing  earth,  sea,  air, 
Reflect  his  attributes,  who  placed  them  there, 
Fulfil  the  purpose,  and  appear  designed 
Proofs  of  the  wisdom  of  th'  all-seeing  mind, 
*Tis  plain  the  creature,  whom  he  chose  t7  invest 
With  kingship  and  dominion  o'er  the  rest, 
Received  his  nobler  nature,  and  was  made 
Fit  for  the  power  in  which  he  stands  arrayed  ; 
That  first,  or  last,  hereafter,  if  not  here, 
He  too  might  make  his  author's  wisdom  clear, 


312  TIROCINIUM.    OR 

Praise  him  on  earth,  or,  obstinately  dumb, 
Suffer  his  justice  in  a  world  to  come. 
This  once  believed,  'twere  logic  misapplied, 
To  prove  a  consequence  by  none  denied, 
That  we  are  bound  to  cast  the  minds  of  youth 
Betimes  into  the  mould  of  heavenly  truth, 
That  taught  of  God  they  may  indeed  be  wise, 
Nor  ignorantly  wandering1  miss  the  skies. 

In  early  days  the  conscience  has  in  most 
A  quickness,  which  in  later  life  is  lost : 
Preserved  from  guilty  by  salutary  fears, 
Or  guilty  soon  relenting  into  tears. 
Too  careless  often,  as  our  years  proceed, 
What  friends  we  sort  with,  or  what  books  we  read, 
Our  parents  yet  exert  a  prudent  care, 
To  feed  our  infant  minds  with  proper  fare  ; 
And  wisely  store  the  nursery  by  degrees 
With  wholesome  learning,  yet  acquired  with  ease. 
Neatly  secured  from  being  soiled  or  torn 
Beneath  a  pane  of  thin  translucent  horn, 
A  book  (to  please  us  at  a  tender  age, 
'Tis  called  a  book,  though  but  a  single  page) 
Presents  the  prayer  the  Saviour  deigned  to  teach, 
Which  children  use,  and  parsons — when  they  preach; 
Lisping  our  syllables,  we  scramble  next 
Though  moral  narrative,  or  sacred  text ; 
And  learn  with  wonder  how  this  world  began, 
W^ho  made,  who  marred,  and  who  has    ransomed 

man : 

Points  which,  unless  the  Scripture  made  them  plain. 
The  wisest  heads  might  agitate  in  vain. 

0  thou,  whom,  borne  on  Fancy's  eager  wing 
Back  to  the  season  of  life's  happy  spring, 

1  pleased  remember,  and,  while  memory  yet 
Holds  fast  her  office  here,  can  ne'er  forget ; 
Ingenious  dreamer,  in  whose  well-told  tale 
Sweet  fiction  and  sweet  truth  alike  prevail ; 
Whose  humorous  vein,  strong  sense,  and  simple 


A   REVIEW    OF    SCHOOLS.  313 

May  teach  the  gayest,  make  the  gravest  smile 

Witty,  and  well  employed,  and,  like  thy  Lord, 

Speaking  in  parables  his  slighted  word  ; 

F  name  thee  not,  lest  so  despised  a  name 

Should  move  a  sneer  at  thy  deserved  fame ; 

Yet  e'en  in  transitory  life's  late  day, 

That  mingles  all  my  brown  with  sober  gray, 

Revere  the  man,  whose  pilgrim  marks  the  road, 

And  guides  the  progress  of  the  soul  to  God. 

'Twere  well  with  most,  if  books,  that  could  engage 

Their  childhood,  pleased  them  at  a  riper  age ; 

The  man,  approving  what  had  charmed  the  boy, 

Would  die  at  last  in  comfort,  peace,  and  joy  ; 

And  not  with  curses  on  his  heart,  who  stole 

The  gem  of  truth  from  his  unguarded  soul. 

The  stamp  of  artless  piety  impressed 

By  kind  tuition  on  his  yielding  breast, 

The  youth  now  bearded,  and  yet  pert  and  raw, 

Regards  with  scorn,  though  once  received  with  awe  | 

And,  warped  into  the  labyrinth  of  lies, 

That  babblers,  called  philosophers,  devise, 

Blasphemes  his  creed,  as  founded  on  a  plan 

Replete  with  dreams,  unworthy  of  a  man. 

Touch  but  his  nature  in  its  ailing  part, 

Assert  the  native  evil  of  his  heart, 

His  pride  resents  the  charge,  although  the  proof* 

Rise  in  his  forehead,  and  seem  rank  enough : 

Point  to  the  cure,  describe  a  Saviour's  cross 

As  God's  expedient  to  refrieve  his  loss, 

The  young  apostate  sickens  at  the  view, 

And  hates  it  with  the  malice  of  a  Jew. 

How  weak  the  barrier  of  mere  nature  proves, 
Opposed  against  the  pleasures  nature  loves  ! 
While  self-betrayed,  and  wilfully  undone, 
She  longs  to  yield,  no  sooner  wooed  than  one. 
Try  now  the  merits  of  this  blest  exchange 
Of  modest  truth  for  wit's  eccentric  range" 

*  See  2  Chron.  ch.  xxvi.  ver  19* 

87 


314  'TIROCINIUM:    OR 

Time  was,  he  closed  as  he  began  the  day 

With  decent  duty,  not  ashamed  to  pray ; 

The  practice  was  a  bond  upon  his  heart, 

A  pledge  he  gave  for  a  consistent  part ; 

Nor  could  Jie  dare  presumptuously  displease 

A  power,  confessed  so  lately  on  his  knees. 

But  now  farewell  all  legendary  tales, 

The  shadows  fly,  philosophy  prevails ; 

Prayer  to  the  winds,  and  caution  to  the  waves ; 

Religion  makes  the  free  by  nature  slaves. 

Priests  have  invented,  and  the  world  admired 

What  knavish  priests  promulgate  as  inspired ; 

Till  reason,  now  no  longer  overawed, 

Resumes  her  powers,  and  spurns  the  clumsy  iraud 

And,  common  sense  diffusing  real  day, 

The  meteor  of  the  Gospel  dies  away. 

Such  rhapsodies  our  shrewd  discerning  youth 

Learn  from  expert  inquirers  after  truth"; 

Whose  only  care,  might  truth  presume  to  speak, 

Is  not  to  find  what  they  profess  to  seek. 

And  thus,  well  tutored  only  while  we  share 

A  mother's  lectures  and  a  nurse's  care  ; 

And  taught  at  schools  much  myt.holo£ric  stuff  * 

But  sound  religion  sparingly  enough^ 

Our  early  notices  of  truth,  disgraced, 

Soon  lose  their  credit,  and  are  all  effaced. 

Would  you  your  son  should  be  a  sot.  or  dunce, 

Lascivious,  headstrong,  or  all  these  at  once  ; 

That  in  good  time  the  stripling's  finished  taste 

For  loose  expense,  arid  fashionable  waste, 

Should  prove  your  ruin,  and  his  own  at  last ; 

Train  him  in  public  with  a  mob  of  boys, 

Childish  in  mischief  only  and  in  noise, 

Else  of  a  manish  growth,  and  five  in  ten 

*  The  author  begs  leave  to  explain.— Sensible  that,  without  such 
knowledge,  neither  the  ancient  poet  nor  historians  can  be  tasted,  or  in- 
deed understood,  he  does  not  mean  to  censure  the  pains  that  are  taken 
to  instruct  a  schoolboy  in  the  religion  01  the  Heathen,  but  merely  that 
neglect  of  Christian  culture  which  leaves  him  shamefully  ignorant  01 
his  own. 


A   REVIEW   OF    SCHOOLS.  2ifi 

[n  infidelity  and  lewdness  men. 

There  shall  he  learn,  ere  sixteen  winters  old, 

That  authors  are  most  useful  pawned  or  sold  ; 

That  pedantry  is  all  that  schools  impart, 

But  taverns  teach  the  knowledge  of  the  heart, 

There  waiter  Dick,  with  Bacchanalian  lays, 

Shall  win  his  heart,  and  have  his  drunken  pri  vv 

His  counsellor  and  bosom  friend  shall  prove, 

And  some  street-pacing  harlot  his  first  love. 

Schools,  unless  discipline  were  doubly  stror?^ 

Detain  their  adolescent  charge  ten  long ; 

The  management  of  tyros  of  eighteen 

Is  difficult ;  their  punishment  obscene. 

The  stout  tall  captain,  whose  superior  sl^e 

The  minor  heroes  view  with  envious  eyes, 

Becomes  their  pattern,  upon  whom  they  fir 

Their  whole  attention  and  ape  all  his  tricks. 

His  pride,  that  scorns  t'  obey  or  to  submit, 

With  them  is  courage  ;  his  effrontery  wit. 

His  wild  excursions,  window-breaking  feats, 

Robbery  of  gardens,  quarrels  in  the  streets, 

His  hairbreadth  'scapes,  and  all  his  daring  schemes 

Transport  them,  and  are  made  their  favourite  theme* 

In  little  bosoms  such  achievements  strike 

A  kindred  spark  :  they  burn  to  do  the  like. 

Thus,  half-accomplished  ere  he  yet  begin 

To  show  the  peeping  down  upon  his  chin ; 

And,  as  maturity  of  years  comes  on, 

Made  just  th'  adept  that  you  designed  your  son  ; 

T'  ensure  the  perseverance  of  this  course, 

And  give  your  monstrous  project  all  its  force, 

Send  him  to  college.     If  he  there  be  tamed. 

Or  in  one  article  of  vice  reclaimed. 

Where  no  regard  of  ord'nances  is  shown 

Or  looked  for  now,  the  fault  must  be  his  own. 

Some  sneaking  virtue  lurks  in  him,  no  doubt, 

Where  neither  strumpets'  charms,  nor  drinking  bout. 

Nor  gambling  practices,  can  find  it  out. 


316  TIROCINIUM:   OR 

Such  youths  of  spirit,  and  that  spirit  too, 

Ye  nurseries  of  our  boys,  we  owe  to  you  : 

Though  from  ourselves  the  mischief  more  proceeds 

For  public  schools  ''tis  public  folly  feeds. 

The  slaves  of  custom  and  established  mode, 

With  packhorse  constancy  we  keep  the  road, 

Crooked  or  straight,  through  quags  or  thorny  dells, 

True  to  the  jingling  of  our  leader's  bells. 

To  follow  foolish  precedents,  and  wink 

With  both  our  eyes,  is  easier  than  to  think  : 

And  such,  an  age  as  ours  balks  no  expense, 

Except  of  caution,  and  of  common-sense  ; 

Else  sure  notorious  fact,  and  proof  so  plain, 

Would  turn  our  steps  into  a  wiser  train. 

I  blame  not  those,  who  with  what  care  they  can, 

O'erwatch  the  numerous  and  unruly  clan ; 

Or,  if  I  blame,  'tis  only  that  they  dare 

Promise  a  work,  of  which  they  must  despair. 

Have  ye,  ye  sage  intendants  of  the  whole, 

An  ubiquarian  presence  and  control, 

Elisha's  eye,  that,  when  Gehazi  strayed, 

Went  with  him,  and  saw  all  the  game  he  played  ? 

Yes — ye  are  conscious  ;  and  on  all  the  shelves 

Your  pupils  strike  upon,  have  struck  yourselves. 

Or  if,  by  nature  sober,  ye  had  then, 

Boys  as  ye  were,  the  gravity  of  men ; 

Ye  knew  at  least,  by  constant  proofs  addressed 

To  ears  and  eyes,  the  vices  of  the  rest. 

But  ye  connive  at  what  ye  cannot  cure, 

And  evils,  not  to  be  endured,  endure, 

Lest  power  exerted,  but  without  success, 

Should  make  the  little  ye  retain  still  less. 

Ye  once  were  justly  famed  for  bringing  forth 

Undoubted  scholarship  and  genuine  worth  ; 

And  in  the  firmament  of  fame  still  shines 

A  s^lory,  bright  as  that  of  all  the  signs, 

Of  poets  raised  by  you,  and  statesmen,  and  divines. 

Peace  to  them  all  !  those  brilliant  times  are  fled, 


A   REVIEW   OF   SCHOOLS.  317 

And  no  such  lights  are  kindling  in  their  stead. 
Our  striplings  shine  indeed,  but  with  such  rays, 
As  set  the  midnight  riot  in  a  blaze  ; 
And  seem,  if  judged  by  their  expressive  looks, 
Deeper  in  none  than  in  their  surgeons'  books. 

Say,  muse,  (for  education  made  the  song, 
No  muse  can  hesitate,  or  linger  long) 
What  causes  move  us,  knowing  as  we  must, 
That  these  menageries  all  fail  their  trust, 
To  send  our  sons  to  scout  and  scamper  there, 
While  colts  and  puppies  cost  us  so  much  care  ? 

Be  it  a  weakness,  it  deserves  some  praise, 
We  love  the  playplace  of  our  early  days ; 
The  scene  is  touching,  and  the  heart  is  stone, 
That  feels  not  at  the  sight,  and  feels  at  none. 
The  wall  on  which  we  tried  our  graving  skill, 
The  very  name  we  carved  subsisting  still  ; 
The  bench  on  which  we  sat  while  deep  employed, 
Tho'  mangled,  hacked,  and  hewed,  not  yet  destroyed  j 
The  little  ones,  unbuttoned,  glowing  hot, 
Playing  our  games,  and  on  the  very  spot ; 
As  happy  as  we  once,  to  kneel  and  draw 
The  chalky  ring,  and  knuckle  down  at  taw ; 
To  pitch  the  ball  into  the  grounded  hat, 
Or  drive  it  devious  with  a  dexterous  pat ; 
The  pleasing  spectacle  at  once  excites 
Such  recollection  of  our  own  delights, 
That,  viewing  it,  we  seem  almost  t'  obtain 
Our  innocent  sweet  simple  years  again. 
This  fond  attachment  to  the  well-known  place, 
Whence  first  we  started  into  life's  long  race, 
Maintains  its  hold  with  such  unfailing  sway, 
We  feel  it  e'en  in  age,  and  at  our  latest  day. 
Hark  !  how  the  sire  of  chits,  whose  future  share 
Of  classic  food  begins  to  be  his  care, 
With  his  own  likeness  placed  on  either  knee, 
Indulges  all  a  father's  heart-felt  glee  ; 
And  tells  them,  as  he  strokes  their  silver  locks, 

27* 


318  TIROCINIUM:    OR 

That  they  must  soon  learn  Latin,  and  to  box ; 
Then  turning  he  regales  his  listening  wife 
With  all  th'  adventures  of  his  early  life ; 
His  skill  in  coachmanship,  or  driving  chaise, 
In  bilking  tavern  bills,  and  spouting  plays  ; 
What  shifts  he  used,  detected  in  a  screpe, 
How  he  was  flogged,  or  had  the  luck  t7  escape, 
What  sums  he  lost  at  play,  and  how  he  sold 
Watch,  seals,  and  all — till  all  his  pranks  are  told. 
Retracing  thus  his  frolics,  ('tis  a  name 
That  palliates  deeds  of  folly  and  of  shame) 
He  gives  the  local  bias  all  its  sway ; 
Resolved  that  where  he  played  his  sons  shall  play 
And  destines  their  bright  genius  to  be  shown 
Just  in  the  scene  where  he  displayed  his  own. 
The  meek  and  bashful  boy  will  soon  be  taught 
To  be  as  bold  and  forward  as  he  ought ; 
The  rude  will  scuffle  through  with  ease  enough, 
Great  schools  suit  best  the  sturdy  and  the  rough. 
Ah  happy  designation,  prudent  choice, 
Th7  event  is  sure  ;  expect  it ;  and  rejoice  ! 
Soon  see  your  wish  fulfilled  in  either  child, 
The  pert  made  perter,  and  the  tame  made  wild. 

The  great  indeed,  by  titles,  riches,  birth, 
Excused  th7  encumbrance  of  more  solid  worth, 
Are  best  disposed  of  where  with  most  success 
They  may  acquire  that  confident  address, 
Those  habits  of  profuse  and  lewd  expense, 
That  scorn  of  all  delights  but  those  of  sense, 
Which,  though  in  plain  plebeians  we  condemn, 
With  so  much  reason  all  expect  from  them. 
But  families  of  less  illustrious  fame, 
Whose  chief  distinction  is  their  spotless  name, 
Whose  heirs,  their  honours  none,  their  income  small, 
Mast  shine  by  true  desert,  or  not  at  all, 
What  dream  they  of,  that  with  so  little  care 
They  risk  their  hopes,  their  dearest  treasure,  there? 
They  dream  of  little  (Charles  or  William  graced 


A  REVIEW   OF    SCHOOLS.  319 

With  wig  prolix,  down  flowing"  to  his  waist* 
They  see  th  attentive  crowds  his  talents  draw, 
They  hear  him  speak — the  oracle  of  law. 
The  father,  who  designs  his  babe  a  priest, 
Dreams  him  episcopally  such  at  least ; 
And,  while  the  playful  jockey  scours  the  loom 
Briskly,  astride  upon  the  parlour  broom, 
In  fancy  sees  him  more  superbly  ride 
In  coach  with  purple  lined,  and  mrres  on  its  side, 
Events  improbable  and  strange  as  these, 
Which  only  a  parental  eye  foresees, 
A  public  school  shall  bring  to  pass  with  ease. 
But  how  ?  resides  such  virtue  in  that  air 
As  must  create  an  appetite  for  prayer  ? 
And  will  it  breathe  into  him  all  the  zeal, 
That  candidates  for  such  a  prize  should  *eei, 
To  take  the  lead  and  be  the  foremost  still 
In  all  true  worth  and  literary  skill  ? 
1  Ah  blind  to  bright  futurity,  untaught 
The  knowledge  of  the  world,  and  dull  of  thought ! 
Church  ladders  are  not  always  mounted  best 
By  learned  clerks,  and  Latinists  professed. 
Th'  exalted  prize  demands  an  upward  look, 
Not  to  be  found  by  poring  on  a  book. 
Small  skill  in  Latin,  and  still  less  in  Greek, 
Is  more  than  adequate  to  all  I  seek. 
Let  erudition  grace  him,  or  not  grace, 
I  give  the  bauble  but  the  second  place : 
His  wealth,  fame,  honours,  all  that  I  intend 
Subsist  and  centre  in  one  point — a  friend. 
A  friend,  whatever  he  studies  or  neglects, 
Shall  give  him  consequence,  heal  all  defects. 
His  intercourse  with  peers  and  sons  of  peers — 
There  dawns  the  spleudour  of  his  future  years : 
In  that  bright  quarter  his  propitious  skies 
Shall  blush  betimes,  and  there  his  glory  rise. 
Your  Lordship,  and  Your  Grace*  what  school  can 
teach 


320  TIROCINIUM:    OR 

A  rhetoric  equal  to  those  parts  of  speech  ? 

What  need  of  Homer's  verse,  or  Tally's  prose, 

Sweet  interjections  !  if  he  learn  but  those? 

Let  reverend  churls  his  ignorance  rebuke, 

Who  starve  upon  a  dogs-eared  pentateuch, 

The  Parson  knows  enough,  who  knows  a  duke." 

Egregious  purpose  !  worthyly  begun 

In  barbarous  prostitution  of  your  son  ; 

Pressed  on  his  part  by  means  that  would  disgrace 

A  scriv'ner's  clerk,  or  footman  out  of  place, 

And  ending,  if  at  last  its  end  be  gained, 

In  sacrilege,  in  God's  own  house  profaned. 

It  may  succeed  ;  and,  if  his  sins  should  call 

For  more  than  common  punishment,  it  shall ; 

The  wretch  shall  rise,  and  be  the  thing  on  earth 

Least  qualified  in  honour,  learning,  worth, 

To  occupy  a  sacred,  awful  post, 

In  which  the  best  and  worthiest  tremble  most. 

The  royal  letters  are  a  thing  of  course, 
A  King,  that  would,  might  recommend  his  horse ; 
And  deans,  no  doubt,  and  chapters,  with  one  voice, 
As  bound  in  duty,  would  confirm  the  choice. 
Behold  your  bishop  !  well  he  plays  his  part, 
Christian  in  name,  and  infidel  in  heart, 
Ghostly  in  office,  earthly  in  his  plan, 
A  slave  at  court,  elsewhere  a  lady's  man. 
Dumb  as  a  senator,  and  as  a  priest 
A  piece  of  mere  church-furniture  at  best ; 
To  live  estranged  from  God  his  total  scope, 
And  his  end  sure,  without  one  glimpse  of  hope. 
But  fair  although  and  feasible  it  seem, 
Depend  not  much  upon  your  golden  dream ; 
For  Providence,  that  seems  concerned  t'  exempt 
The  hallowed  bench  from  absolute  contempt, 
In  spite  of  all  the  wrigglers  into  place, 
Still  keeps 'a  seat  or  two  for  worth  and  grace, 
And  therefore  'tis,  that,  though  the  sight  be  rare, 
We  sometimes  see  a  Lowth  or  Bagot  there. 


A   REVIEW    OF    SCHOOLS.  S2t 

Besides,  school-friendships  are  not  always  found, 

Though  fair  in  promise,  permanent  and  sound, 

The  most  disint'rested  and  virtuous  minds,     . 

In  early  years  connected,  time  unbinds ; 

New  situations  give  a  different  cast 

Of  habit,  inclination,  temper,  taste ; 

And  he,  that  seemed  our  counterpart  at  first, 

Soon  shows  the  strong  similitude  reversed. 

Young  heads  are  giddy,  and  young  hearts  are  warm, 

And  make  mistakes  for  manhood  to  reform. 

Boys  are  at  best  but  pretty  buds  unblown, 

Whose  scent  and  hues  are  rather  guessed  than  known ; 

Each  dreams  that  each  is  just  what  he  appears. 

But  learns  his  error  in  maturer  years, 

When  disposition,  like  a  sail  unfurled, 

Shows  all  its  rents  and  patches  to  the  world. 

If,  therefore,  e'en  when  honest  in  design, 

A  boyish  friendship  may  so  soon  decline, 

'Twere  wiser  sure  t'  inspire  a  little  heart 

With  just  abhorrence  of  so  mean  a  part, 

Then  set  your  son  to  work  at  a  vile  trade 

For  wages  so  unlikely  to  be  paid. 

Our  public  hives  of  puerile  resort. 
That  are  of  chief  and  most  approved  report, 
To  such  base  hopes,  in  many  a  sordid  soul, 
Owe  their  repute  in  part,  but  not  the  whole. 
A  principle,  whose  proud  pretensions  pass 
Unquestioned,  though  the  jewel  be  but  glass — 
That  with  a  world,  not  often  over-nice, 
Ranks  as  a  virtue,  and  is  yet  a  vice  ; 
Or  rather  a  gross  compound,  justly  tried, 
Of  envy,  hatred,  jealousy,  and  pride — 
Contributes  most  perhaps  t'  enhance  their  fame, 
And  emulation  is  its  specious  name. 
Boys,  once  on  fire  with  that  contentious  zeal, 
Feel  all  the  rage,  that  female  rivals  feel ; 
The  prize  of  beauty  in  a  woman's  eyes 
Not  brighter  than  in  theirs  the  scholar's  prize, 


322  TIROCINIUM,   OR 

The  spirit  of  that  competition  burns 
With  all  varieties  of  ills  by  turns  ; 
Each  vainly  magnifies  his  own  success, 
Resents  his  fellow's,  wishes  it  were  less, 
Exults  in  his  miscarriage,  if  he  fail, 
Deems  his  reward  too  great,  if  he  prevail, 
And  labours  to  surpass  him  day  and  night, 
Less  for  improvement  than  to  tickle  spite. 
The  spur  is  powerful,  and  I  grant  its  force ; 
It  pricks  the  genius  forward  in  its  course, 
Allows  short  time  for  play,  and  none  for  sloth ; 
And,  felt  alike  by  each,  advances  both ; 
But  judge,  where  so  much  evil  intervenes, 
The  end,  though  plausible,  not  worth  the  means. 
Weigh,  for  a  moment,  classical  desert 
Against  a  heart  depraved  and  temper  hurt ; 
Hurt  too  perhaps  for  life  ;  for  early  wrong, 
Done  to  the  nobler  part,  affects  it  long  : 
And  you  are  stanch  indeed  in  learning's  cause, 
If  you  can  crown  a  discipline,  that  draws 
Such  mischiefs  after  it,  with  much  applause. 

Connexion  formed  for  interest,  and  endeared 
By  selfish  views,  thus  censured  and  cashiered ; 
And  emulation,  as  engendering  hate, 
Doomed  to  a  no  less  ignominious  fate  : 
The  props  of  such  proud  seminaries  fall, 
The  Jachin  and  the  Boaz  of  them  all. 
Great  schools  rejected  then,  as  those  that  swell 
Beyond  a  size  that  can  be  managed  well, 
Shall  royal  institutions  miss  the  bays, 
And  small  academies  win  all  the  praise  ? 
Force  not  my  drift  beyond  its  just  intent, 
I  praise  a  school  as  Pope  a  government ; 
So  take  my  judgment  in  his  language  dressed, 
"  Whatever  is  best  administered  is  best." 
Few  boys  are  born  with  talents  that  excel, 
But  all  are  capable  of  living  well  ; 
Then  ask  riot,  whether  limited  or  large  ? 


A   REVIEW   OP    SCHOOLS.  323 

But,  watch  they  strictly,  or  neglect  their  charge  ? 
If  anxious  only,  that  their  boys  may  learn, 
While  morals  languish,  a  despised  concern, 
The  great  and  small  deserve  one  common  blame, 
Different  in  size,  but  in  effect  the  same. 
Much  zeal  in  virtue's  cause  all  teachers  boast, 
Though  motives  of  mere  lucre  sway  the  most ; 
Therefore  in  towns  and  cities  they  abound, 
For  there  the  game  they  seek  is  easiest  found  ; 
Though  there  in  spite  of  all  that  care  can  do, 
Traps  to  catch  youth  are  most  abundant  too. 
If  shrewd,  and  of  a  well-constructed  brain, 
Keen  in  pursuit,  and  vigorous  to  retain, 
Your  son  come  forth  a  prodigy  of  skill ; 
As  wheresoever  taught,  so  formed,  he  will ; 
The  pedagogue,  with  self-complacent  air, 
Claims  more  than  half  the  praise  as  his  due  share. 
But  if,  with  all  his  genius,  he  betray, 
Not  more  intelligent  than  loose  arid  gay, 
Such  vicious  habits  as  disgrace  his  name, 
Threaten  his  health,  his  fortune,  and  his  fame ; 
Though  want  of  due  restraint  alone  have  bred 
The  symptoms,  that  you  see  with  so  much  dread ; 
Unenvied  there,  he  may  sustain  alone 
The  whole  reproach,  the  fault  was  ail  his  own 

O  'tis  a  sight  to  be  with  joy  perused, 
By  all  whom  sentiment  has  not  abused ; 
New-fangled  sentiment,  the  boasted  grace 
Of  those  who  never  feel  in  the  right  place ; 
A  sight  surpassed  by  none  that  we  can  show 
Though  Vestris  on  one  leg  still  shine  below ; 
A  father  blest  with  an  ingenious  son, 
Father,  and  friend,  and  tutor,  all  in  one. 
How  ! — turn  again  to  tales  long  since  forgot, 
jEsop,  and  Phaedrus,  and  the  rest  ? — Why  not  ? 
He  will  not  blush,  that  has  a  father's  heart, 
To  take  in  childish  plays  a  childish  part ; 
But  bends  his  sturdy  back  to  any  toy. 


324  TIROCINIUM,    OR 

That  youth  takes  pleasure  in,  to  please  his  boy ; 

Then  why  resign  into  a  stranger's  hand 

A  task  as  much  within  your  o\vn  command, 

That  God  and  nature,  and  your  interest  too, 

Seem  with  one  voice  to  delegate  to  you  7 

Why  hire  a  lodging  in  a  house  unknown 

For  one  whose  tenderest  thoughts  all  hover  round 

your  own  ? 

This  second  weaning,  needless  as  it  is, 
How  does  it  lacerate  both  your  heart  and  his  ! 
Th'  indented  stick,  that  loses  day  by  day 
Notch  after  notch,  till  all  are  smoothed  away, 
Bear  witness,  long  ere  his  dismission  come, 
With  what  intense  desire  he  wants  his  home. 
But  though  the  joys  he  hopes  beneath  your  roof 
Bid  fair  enough  to  answer  in  the  proof, 
Harmless,  and  safe,  and  natural  as  they  are, 
A  disappointment  waits  him  even  there  : 
Arrived,  he  feels  an  unexpected  change, 
He  blushes,  hangs  his  head,  is  shy  and  strange, 
No  longer  takes,  at  once,  with  fearless  ease, 
His  favourite  stand  between  his  father's  knees, 
But  seeks  the  corner  of  some  distant  seat, 
And  eyes  the  door,  and  watches  a  retreat, 
And,  least,  familiar  where  he  should  be  most, 
Feels  all  his  happiest  privileges  lost. 
Alas,  poor  boy  ! — the  natural  effect 
Of  love  by  absence  chilled  into  respect, 
Say,  what  accomplishments,  at  school  acquired, 
Brings  he,  to  sweeten  fruits^  so  undesired  ? 
Thou  well  deserv'st  an  alienated  son, 
Unless  thy  conscious  heart  acknowledge — none; 
None  that,  in  thy  domestic  snug  recess, 
He  had  not  made  his  own  with  more  address, 
Though  some,  perhaps,  that  shock  thy  feeling  mind, 
And  better  never  learned,  or  left  behind. 
And  too,  that,  thus  estranged,  thou  canst  obtain 
By  no  kind  arts  his  confidence  again  ; 


A   REVIEW    OF    SCHOOLS.  3^5 

That  here  begins  with  most  that  long  complaint 
Of  filial  frankness  lost,  and  love  grown  faint, 
Which,  oft  neglected,  in  life's  waning  years 
A  parent  pours  into  regardless  ears. 

Like  caterpillars,  dangling  under  trees 
By  slender  threads,  and  swinging  in  the  breeze, 
Which  filthily  bewray  and  sore  disgrace 
The  boughs  in  which  are  bred  th'  unseemly  race  ; 
While  every  worm  industriously  weaves 
And  winds  his  web  about  the  ri veiled  leaves  ; 
So  numerous  are  the  follies,  that  annoy 
The  mind  and  heart  of  every  sprightly  boy ; 
Imaginations  noxious  and  perverse, 
Which  admonition  can  alone  disperse. 
Th'  encroaching  nuisance  asks  a  faithful  hand, 
Patient,  affectionate,  of  high  command, 
To  check  the  procreation  of  a  breed 
Sure  to  exhaust  the  plant  on  which  they  feed. 
JTis  not  enough,  that  Greek  or  Roman  page, 
At  stated  hours,  his  freakish  thoughts  engage ; 
E'en  in  his  pastimes  he  requires  a  friend, 
To  warn,  and  teach  him  safely  to  unbend  ; 
O?er  all  his  pleasures  gently  to  preside, 
Watch  his  emotions,  and  control  their  tide : 
And  levying  thus,  and  with  an  easy  sway, 
A  tax  of  profit  from  his  very  play, 
T'  impress  a  value,  not  to  be  erased, 
On  moments  squandered  else,  and  running  all  to 

waste. 

And  seems  it  nothing  m  a  father's  eye. 
That  unimproved  those  many  moments  fly? 
And  is  he  well  content  his  son  should  find 
No  nourishment  to  feed  his  growing  mind 
But  conjugated  verbs,  and  nouns  declined? 
For  such  is  all  the  mental  food  purveyed 
By  public  hackneys  in  the  schooling  trade  ; 
Who  feed  a  pupil's  intellect  with  store 
Of  syntax,  truly,  but  with  little  more ; 


326  TIROCINIUM,    OR 

Dismiss  their  cares,  when  they  dismiss  their  flock> 

Machines  themselves,  and  governed  by  a  clock. 

Perhaps  a  father,  hlest  with  any  brains, 

Would  deem  it  no  abuse,  or  waste  of  pains, 

T'  improve  this  diet,  at  no  great  expense, 

With  savoury  truth  and  wholesome  common  sense 

To  lead  his  son  for  prospects  of  delight, 

To  some  not  steep,  though  philosophic  height, 

Thence  to  exhibit  to  his  wondering  eyes 

Yon  circling  worlds,  their  distance,  and  their  size ; 

The  moons  of  Jove,  and  Saturn's  belted  ball, 

And  the  harmonious  order  of  them  all ; 

To  show  him  in  an  insect  or  a  flower 

Such  microscopic  proof  of  skill  and  power, 

As,  hid  from  ages  past,  God  now  displays, 

To  combat  atheists  with  in  modern  days ; 

To  spread  the  earth  before  him,  and  commend. 

With  designation  of  the  finger's  e'nd, 

Its  various  parts  to  his  attentive  note, 

Thus  bringing  home  to  him  the  most  remote ; 

To  teach  his  heart  to  glow  with  generous  flame, 

Caught  from  the  deeds  of  men  of  ancient  fame : 

And,  more  than  all,  with  commendation  due, 

To  set  some  living  worthy  in  his  view, 

Whose  fair  example  may  at  once  inspire 

A  wish  to  copy  what  he  must  admire. 

Such  knowledge  gained  betimes,  and  which  appears 

Though  solid,  not  too  weighty  for  his  years, 

Sweet  in  itself,  and  not  forbidding  sport, 

When  health  demands  it,  of  athletic  sort, 

Would  make  him — what  some  lovely  boys  have  been, 

And  moie  than  one  perhaps  that  I  have  seen — 

An  evidence  and  reprehension  both 

Of  the  mere  school-boy's  lean  and  tardy  growth. 

Art  thou  a  man  professionally  tied. 
With  all  thy  faculties  elsewhere  applied, 
Too  busy  to  intend  a  meaner  care, 
Than  how  t'  enrich  thyself,  and  next  thine  heir: 


A   REVIEW    OF    SCHOOLS.  327 

Or  art  thou  (as  though  rich,  perhaps  thou  art) 
But  poor  in  knowledge,  having  none  t7  impart : 
Behold  that  figure,  neat,  though  plainly  clad  ; 
His  sprightly  mingled  with  a  shade  of  sad  ; 
Not  of  a  nimble  tongue,  though  now  and  then 
Heard  to  articulate  like  other  men  ; 
No  jester  and  yet  lively  in  discourse, 
His  phrase  well  chosen,  clear,  and  full  of  force ; 
And  his  address,  if  not  quite  French  in  ease, 
Not  English  stiff,  but  frank,  and  formed  to  please ; 
Low  in  the  world,  because  he  scorns  its  arts ; 
A  man  of  letters,  manners,  morals,  parts  ; 
Unpatronised,  and  therefore  little  known ; 
Wise  for  himself  and  his  few  friends  alone — 
In  him  thy  well  appointed  proxy  see, 
Armed  for  a  work  too  difficult  for  thee; 
Prepared  by  taste,  by  learning,  and  true  worth, 
To  form  thy  son,  to  strike  his  genius  forth  ; 
Beneath  thy  roof,  beneath  thine  eye,  to  prove 
The  force  of  discipline,  when  backed  by  love ; 
To  double  all  thy  pleasure  in  thy  child, 
His  mind  informed,  his  morals  undefiled. 
Safe  under  such  a  wing,  the  boy  shall  show 
No  spots  contracted  among  grooms  below, 
Nor  taint  his  speech  with  meannesses,  designed 
By  footman  Tom  for  witty  and  refined. 
There,  in  his  commerce  with  the  liv'ried  herd, 
Lurks  the  contagion  chiefly  to  be  feared  ; 
For  since  (so  fashion  dictates)  all,  who  claim 
A  higher  than  a  mere  plebeian  fame, 
Find  it  expedient,  come  what  mischief  may, 
To  entertain  a  thief  or  two  in  pay, 
(And  they  that  can  afford  th'  expense  of  more, 
Some  half  a  dozen,  and  some  half  a  score,) 
Great  cause  occurs,  to  save  him  from  a  band 
So  sure  to  spoil  him,  and  so  near  at  hand ; 
A  point  secured,  if  once  lie  be  supplied 
With  some  such  Mentor  always  at  his  side. 


328  TIROCINIUM,   OR 

Are  such  men  rare  ?  perhaps  they  would  abound, 

Were  occupation  easier  to  be  found, 

Were  education,  else  so  sure  to  fail, 

Conducted  on  a  manageable  scale, 

And  schools,  that  have  outlived  ail  just  esteem, 

Exchanged  for  the  secure  domestic  scheme. — 

But,  having  found  him,  be  thou  duke  or  earl, 

Show  thou  hast  sense  enough  to  prize  the  pearl, 

Ands  as  thou  wouldst  th'  advancement  of  thine  heir 

In  all  good  faculties  beneath  his  care, 

Respect,  as  is  but  rational  and  just, 

A  man  deemed  worthy  of  so  dear  a  trust. 

Despised  by  thee,  what  more  can  he  expect 

From  youthful  folly  than  the  same  neglect ; 

A  flat  and  fatal  negative  obtains 

That  instant  upon  all  his  future  pains  ; 

His  lessons  tire,  his  mild  rebukes  offend, 

And  all  th'  instructions  of  thy  son's  best  friend 

Are  a  stream  choked,  or  trickling  to  no  end. 

Doom  him  not  then  to  solitary  meals  ; 

But  recollect  that  he  has  sense  and  feels ; 

And  that,  possessor  of  a  soul  refined, 

An  upright  heart,  and  cultivated  mind, 

His  post  not  mean,  his  talents  not  unknown, 

He  deems  it  hard  to  vegetate  alone, 

And,  if  admitted  at  thy  board  he  sit, 

Account  him  no  just  mark  for  idle  wit ; 

Offend  not  him,  whom  modesty  restrains 

From  repartee,  with  jokes  that  he  disdains ; 

Much  less  transfix  his  feelings  with  an  oath ; 

Nor  frown,  unless  he  vanish  with  the  cloth. 

And,  trust  me,  his  utility  may  reach 

To  more  than  he  is  hirfcd  or  bound  to  teach ; 

Much  trash  unuttered,  and  some  ills  undone, 

Through  reverence  of  the  censor  of  thy  son. 

But,  if  thy  table  be  indeed  unclean, 
Foul  with  excess,  and  with  discourse  obscene, 
And  thou  a  wretch,  whom,  following  her  old  plan. 


A    REVIEW    OF    SCHOOLS.  329 

The  world  accounts  an  honourable  man, 
Because  forsooth  thy  courage  has  been  tried, 
And  stood  the  test,  perhaps,  on  the  wrong  side ; 
Though  thou  hadst  never  grace  enough  to  prove 
That  any  thing  but  vice  could  win  thy  love  ; — 
Or  hast  thou  a  polite,  card-playing  wife, 
Chained  to  the  routs  that  she  frequents  for  life  ; 
Who,  just,  when  industry  begins  to  snore, 
Flies,  winged  with  joy,  to  some  coach-crowded  door. 
And  thrice  in  every  winter  throngs  thine  own 
With  half  the  chariots  and  sedans  in  town, 
Thyself  meanwhile  e'en  shifting  as  thou  mayst : 
Not  very  sober  though,  nor  very  chaste ; 
Or  is  thine  house,  though  less  superb  thy  rank, 
If  not  a  scene  of  pleasure,  a  mere  blank, 
And  thou  at  best,  and  in  thy  soberest  mood, 
A  trifler  vain,  and  empty  of  all  good  ; 
Though  mercy  for  thyself  thou  canst  have  none, 
Hear  nature  plead,  show  mercy  to  thy  son. 
Saved  from  his  home,  where  every  day  brings  forth 
Some  mischief  fatal  to  his  future  woith, 
Find  him  a  better  in  a  distant  spot, 
Within  some  pious  pastor's  humble  cot, 
Where  vile  example  (yours  1  chiefly  mean, 
The  most  seducing,  and  the  oftenest  seen,) 
May  never  more  be  stamped  upon  his  breast, 
Nor  yet  perhaps  incurably  impressed. 
Where  early  rest  makes  early  rising  sure, 
Disease  or  comes  not,  or  finds  easy  cure, 
Prevented  much  by  diet  neat  and  plain  ; 
Or,  if  it  enter,  soon  starved  out  again  : 
Where  all  th'  attention  of  his  faithful  host, 
Discreetly  limited  to  two  at  most, 
May  raise  such  fruits  as  shall  reward  his  care, 
And  not  at  last  evaporate  in  air 
Where,  stillness  aiding  study,  and  his  mind 
Serene,  and  to  his  duties  much  inclined, 
Not  occupied  in  dav-dreams,  as  at  home, 
28* 


330  TIROCINIUM,    OR 

Of  pleasures  past,  or  follies  yet  to  come, 

His  virtuous  toil  may  terminate  at  last 

In  settled  habit  and  decided  taste. — 

But  whom  do  I  advise  ?  the  fashion-led, 

Th'  incorrigibly  young,  the  deaf,  the  dead, 

Whom  care  and  cool  deliberation  suit 

Not  better  much  than  spectacles  a  brute; 

Who,  if  their  sons  some  slight  tuition  share, 

Deem  it  of  no  great  moment  whose,  or  where  ; 

Too  proud  t'  adopt  the  thoughts  of  one  unknown, 

And  much  too  gay  t'  have  any  of  their  own. 

But  courage,  man  !  methought  the  muse  replied, 

Mankind  are  various,  and  the  world  is  wide  : 

The  ostrich,  silliest  of  the  feathered  kind, 

And  formed  of  God  without  a  parent's  mind, 

Commits  her  eggs  incautious  to  the  dust, 

Forgetful  that  the  foot  may  crush  the  trust ; 

And,  while  on  public  nurseries  they  rely, 

Not  knowing,  and  too  oft  not  caring,  why, 

Irrational  in  what  they  thus  prefer, 

No  few,  that  would  seem  wise,  resemble  her. 

But  all  are  not  alike.     Thy  warning  voice 

May  here  and  there  prevent  erroneous  choice : 

And  some  perhaps,  who,  busy  as  they  are, 

Yet  make  their  progeny  their  dearest  care, 

(Whose  hearts  will  ache,  once  told  what  ills  may 

reach 

Their  offspring,  left  upon  so  wild  a  beach,) 
Will  need  no  stress  of  argument  t'  enforce 
Th'  expedience  of  a  less  adventurous  course  : 
The  rest  will  slight  thy  counsel,  or  condemn ; 
But  they  have  human  feelings,  turn  to  them. 
To  you  then,  tenants  of  life's  middle  state, 
Securely  placed  between  the  small  and  great, 
Whose  character,  yet  undebauched,  retains 
Two  thirds  of  all  the  virtue  that  remains, 
Who,  wise  yourselves,  desire  your  son  should  learn 
Your  wisdom  and  your  ways — to  you  I  turn, 


A  REVIEW    OF    SCHOOLS.  3;U 

Look  round  you  on  a  world  perversely  blind  ; 

See  what  contempt  is  fallen  on  human  kind ; 

See  wealth  abused,  and  dignities  misplaced, 

Great  titles,  offices,  and  trusts  disgraced, 

Long  lines  of  ancestry,  renowned  of  old, 

Their  noble  qualities  all  quenched  and  cold; 

See  Bedlam's  closeted  and  hand-cuffed  charge 

Surpassed  in  frenzy  by  the  mad  at  large  ; 

See  great  commanders  making  war  a  trade, 

Great  lawyers,  lawyers  without  study  made ; 

Churchmen,  in  whose  esteem  their  best  employ 

Is  odious,  and  their  wages  all  their  joy, 

Who,  far  enough  from  furnishing  their  shelves 

With  Gospel  lore,  turn  infidels  themselves ; 

See  womanhood  despised,  and  manhood  shamed 

With  infamy  too  nauseous  to  be  named, 

Fops  at  all  corners,  lady-like  in  mien, 

Civeted  fellows,  smelt  ere  they  are  seen, 

Else  coarse  and  rude  in  manners,  and  their  tongue 

On  fire  with  curses,  and  with  nonsense  hung, 

Now  flushed  with  drunkenness,  now  with  whoredom 

pale, 

Their  breath  a  sample  of  last  night's  regale ; 
See  volunteers  in  all  the  vilest  arts, 
Men  well  endowed,  of  honourable  parts, 
Designed  by  Nature  wise,  but  self-made  fools  ; 
All  these,  and  more  like  these,  were  bred  at  schools : 
And  if  it  chance,  as  sometimes  chance  it  will, 
That  though  school-bred,  the  boy  be  virtuous  still, 
Such  rare  exceptions,  shining  in  the  dark, 
Prove,  rather  than  impeach,  the  just  remark  : 
As  here  and  there  a  twinkling  star  descried, 
Serves  but  to  show  how  black  is  all  beside. 
Now  look  on  him,  whose  very  voice  in  tone 
Just  echoes  thine,  whose  features  are  thine  own, 
And  stroke  his  polished  cheek  of  purest  red, 
And  lay  thine  hand  upon  his  flaxen  head, 
And  say,  My  boy,  tP  unwelcome  hour  is  come, 


332  TIROCIN1LM,   OR 

When  them,  transplanted  from  thy  genial  home, 

Must  find  a  colder  soil  and  bleaker  air, 

And  trust  for  safety  to  a  stranger's  care ; 

What  character,  what  turn  thou  wilt  assume 

From  constant  converse  with  I  know  not  whom ; 

Who  there  will  court  thy  friendship,  with  what  views, 

And,  artless  as  thou  art,  whom  thou  wilt  choose  ; 

Though  much  depends  on  what  thy  choice  shall  be, 

Is  all  chance-medley,  and  unknown  to  me, 

Canst  thou,  the  tear  just  trembling  on  thy  lids, 

And  while  the  dreadful  risk  forseen  forbids, 

Free  too,  and  under  no  constraining  force, 

Unless  the  sway  of  custom  warp  thy  course, 

Lay  such  a  stake  upon  the  losing  side, 

Merely  to  gratify  so  blind  a  guide  ? 

Thou  canst  not !     Nature,  pulling  at  thy  heart 

Condemns  th'  unfatherly,  th'  imprudent  part. 

Thou  wouldst  not,  deaf  to  Nature's  tenderest  plea, 

Turn  him  adrift  upon  a  rolling  sea, 

Nor  say,  Go  thither,  conscious  that  there  lay 

A  brood  of  asps,  or  quicksands  in  his  way  ; 

Then,  only  governed  by  the  self-same  rule 

Of  natural  pity,  send  him  not  to  school. 

No — guard  him  better.     Is  he  not  thine  own, 

Thyself  in  miniature,  thy  flesh,  thy  bone  ? 

And  hop'st  thou  not  (tis  every  father's  hope) 

That,  since  thy  strength  must  with  thy  years  elope, 

And  thou  wilt  need  some  comfort,  to  assuage 

Health's  last  farewell,  a  staff  of  thine  old  age, 

That  then,  in  recompense  of  all  thy  cares, 

Thy  child  shall  show  respect  to  thy  gray  hairs. 

Befriend  thee,  of  all  other  friends  bereft, 

And  give  thy  life  its  only  cordial  left? 

Aware  then  how  much  danger  intervenes, 

To  compass  that  good  end,  forecast  the  means. 

Flis  heart,  now  passive,  yields  to  thy  command, 

Secure  it  thine,  its  key  is  in  thy  hand. 

It'  thou  desert  thy  charge,  and  throw  it  wide. 


A  REVIEW  OF   SCHOOLS.  333 

N(.r  heed  what  guests  there  enter  and  abide, 
Complain  not  if  attachments  lewd  and  base 
Supplant  thee  in  it,  and  usurp  thy  place. 
Bat,  if  thou  guard  its  sacred  chambers  sure 
From  vicious  inmates,  and  delights  impure, 
Either  his  gratitude  shall  hold  him  fast, 
And  keep  him  warm  and  filial  to  the  last ; 
Or,  if  he  prove  unkind  (as  who  can  say 
But,  being  man,  and  therefore  frail,  he  may  ?) 
One  comfort  yet  shall  cheer  thine  aged  heart, 
Howe'er  he  slight  thee,  thou  hast  done  thy  part. 

Oh,  barbarous !  wouldst  thou  with  a  Gothic  hand, 
Pull  down  the  schools — what ! — all  the  schools  ij  tli' 

land; 

Or  throw  them  up  to  livery-nags  and  grooms, 
Or  turn  them  into  shops  and  auction-rooms? — 
A  captious  question,  sir  (and  yours  is  one,) 
Deserves  an  answer  similar,  or  none. 
Wouldst  thou,  possessor  of  a  flock,  employ 
(Apprized  that  he  is  such)  a  careless  boy, 
And  feed  him  well,  and  give  him  handsome  pay 
Merely  to  sleep  and  let  him  run  astray  ? 
Survey  our  schools  and  colleges,  and  see 
A  sight  not  much  unlike  my  simile. 
From  education,  as  the  leading  cause, 
The  public  character  its  colour  draws ; 
Thence  the  prevailing  manners  take  their  cast, 
Extravagant  or  sober,  loose  or  chaste. 
And,  though  I  would  not  advertise  them  yet, 
Nor  write  on  each —  This  building  to  be  let, 
Unless  the  world  were  all  prepared  tj  embrace 
A  plan  well  worthy  to  supply  their  place ; 
Yet,  backward  as  they  are,  and  long  have  been, 
To  cultivate  and  keep  the  morals  clean, 
(Forgive  the  crime)  1  wish  them,  I  confess, 
Or  better  managed,  or  encouraged  less. 


834  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


THE    YEARLY    DISTRESS. 

OR   TITHING    TIME    AT    STOCK,    IN    ESSEX. 

_     addressed  to  a  country  clergyman,  complaining  of  the  disagreeableneai 
of  the  day  annually  appointed  for  receiving  the  dues  of  the  parsonage. 

COME,  ponder  well,  for  'tis  no  jest, 

To  laugh  it  would  be  wrong 
The  troubles  of  a  worthy  priest, 

The  burden  of  my  song. 

The  priest  he  merry  is  and  blithe 

Three  quarters  of  a  year, 
But  oh  !  it  cuts  him  like  a  scythe, 

When  tithing  time  draws  near. 

He  then  is  full  of  fright  and  fears, 

As  one  at  point  to  die, 
And  long  before  the  day  appears 

He  heaves  up  many  a  sigh. 

For  then  the  farmers  come  jog,  jog, 

Along  the  miry  road 
Each  heart  as  heavy  as  a  log, 

To  make  their  payments  good. 

In  sooth,  the  sorrow  of  such  days 

Is  not  to  be  expressed, 
When  he  that  takes  and  he  that  pays 

Are  both  alike  distressed. 

Now  all  unwelcome  at  his  gates 
The  clumsy  swains  alight, 

With  rueful  faces  arid  bald  pates- 
He  trembles  at  the  sight. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POKMS.  383 

And  well  he  may,  for  well  he  knows 

Each  bumpkin  of  the  clan, 
Instead  of  paying  what  he  owes, 

Will  cheat  him  if  he  can. 

So  in  they  come — each  makes  his  leg, 

And  flings  his  head  before, 
And  looks  as  if  he  came  to  beg 

And  not  to  quit  a  score. 

"  And  how  does  miss  and  madam  do, 

The  little  boy  and  all?" 
"  All  tight  and  well.     And  how  do  you, 

Good  Mr.  What-d'ye-call  ?" 

The  dinner  comes,  and  down  they  sit : 

Were  e'er  such  hungry  folks  ? 
There's  little  talking,  and  no  wit: 

It  is  no  time  to  joke. 

One  wipes  his  nose  upon  his  sleeve, 

One  spits  upon  the  floor 
Yet  not  to  give  offence  or  grieve, 

Hold  up  the  cloth  before. 

The  punch  goes  round,  and  they  are  du 

And  lumpish  still  as  ever; 
Like  barrels  with  their  bellies  full, 

They  only  weigh  the  heavier. 

At  length  the  busy  time  begins. 

"  Come,  neighbours,  we  must  wag — T> 
The  money  chinks,  down  drop  their  chins, 

Each  lugging  out  his  bag. 

One  talks  of  mildew  and  of  frost, 

And  one  of  storms  of  hail, 
And  one  of  pigs  that  he  has  lost 

By  maggots  at  the  tail. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMJx 

Quoth  ono,  c'  A  rarer  man  than  you 

In  pulpit  w  ne  shall  hear : 
But  yet,  methinks,  to  tell  you  true, 

You  sell  it  plaguy  dear." 

O  why  are  farmers  made  so  coarse, 

Or  clergy  made  so  fine  ? 
A  kick,  that  scarce  would  move  a  horse, 

May  kill  a  sound  divine. 

Then  let  the  hoobies  stay  at  home ; 

'Twould  cost  him,  I  dare  say, 
Less  trouble  taking  twice  the  sura, 

Without  the  clowns  that  pay. 


SONNET 

4DDRESSED   TO    HENRY   COWPER,    ESQ. 

On  his  emphatical  and  interesting  Delivery  of  the  Defence  cf  Warren  Hart 
ings,  Esq.,  in  the  House  of  Lords. 

OOWPER,  whose  silver  voice,  tasked  sometimes  hard, 

Legends  prolix  delivers  in  the  ears 

(Attentive  when  thou  read'st)  of  England's  peers. 
Let  verse  at  length  yield  thee  thy  just  reward, 

Thou  wast  not  heard  with  drowsy  disregard, 
Expending  late  on  all  that  length  of  plea 
Thy  generous  powers  ;  but  silence  honoured  thee, 

Mute  as  e'er  gazed  on  orator  or  bard. 

Thou  art  not  voice  alone,  but  hast  beside 

Both  heart  and  head ;    and  couldst  with  music 

sweet 

Of  Attic  phrase  and  senatorial  tone, 
Like  thy  renowned  forefathers,  far  and  wide 
Thy  fame  diifuse,  praised  not  for  utterance  meet 
Of  others'  speech,  but  magic  of  thy  own. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  33* 

LINES 
ADDRESSED   TO    DR.    DARWIN, 

Author  of  the  "  Botanic  Garden.19 

Two  Poets*  (poets,  by  report, 

Not  oft  so  well  agree,) 
Sweet  Harmonist  of  Flora's  court ! 

Conspire  to  honour  Thee. 

They  best  can  judge  a  poet's  worth, 

Who  oft  themselves  have  known 
The  pangs  of  a  poetic  birth 

By  labours  of  their  own. 

We  therefore,  pleased,  extol  thy  song. 

Though  various  yet  complete, 
Rich  in  embellishment,  as  strong 

And  learned  as  'tis  sweet. 

No  envy  mingles  with  our  praise, 

Though,  could  our  hearts  repine 
At  any  poet's  happier  lays, 

They  would — they  must  at  thine. 

But  we  in  mutual  bondage  knit 

Of  friendship's  closest  tie, 
Can  gaze  on  even  Darwin's  wit 

With  an  unjaundiced  eye ; 

And  deem  the  bard,  whoe'er  he  be, 

And  howsoever  known, 
Who  would  not  twine  a  wreath  for  Thee, 

Unworthy  of  his  own. 

tiding  to  the  poem  by  Mr.  Haley,  which  accompanied  these  line* 

2 


338  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS 


ON  MRS.  MONTAGU'S  FEATHER-HANGINGS. 

THE  birds  put  off  their  every  hue, 
To  dress  a  room  for  Montagu. 

The  peacock  sends  his  heavenly  dies, 
His  rainbows  and  his  starry  eyes  ; 
The  Pheasant  plumes,  which  round  infold 
His  mantling  neck  with  downy  gold ; 
The  Cock  his  arched  tail's  azure  show  ; 
And,  river-blanched,  the  Swan  his  snow. 
All  tribes  beside  of  Indian  name, 
That  glossy  shine,  or  vivid  flame, 
Where  rises,  and  where  sets  the  day, 
Whatever  they  boast  of  rich  ard  gay, 
Contribute  to  the  gorgeous  plaii, 
Proud  to  advance  it  all  they  can. 
This  plumage  neither  dashing  shower, 
Nor  blasts  that  shake  the  dripping  bower, 
Shall  drench  again  or  discompose, 
But,  screened  from  every  storm  that  blows, 
It  boasts  a  splendour  ever  new, 
Safe  with  protecting  Montagu. 

To  the  same  patroness  resort, 
Secure  of  favour  at  her  court, 
Strong  Genius,  from  whose  forge  of  thought 
Forms  rise,  to  quick  perfection  wrought, 
Which,  though  new-born,  with  vigour  move, 
Like  Pallas  springing  armed  from  Jove — 
Imagination  scattering  round 
Wild  roses  over  furrowed  ground, 
Which  Labour  of  his  frown  beguile, 
And  teach  Philosophy  a  smile- 
Wit  flashing  on  Religion's  side, 
Whose  fires,  to  sacred  Truth  applied, 
The  gem,  though  luminous  before, 
Obtrudes  on  human  notice  more, 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  339 

Like  sunbeams  on  the  golden  height 
Of  some  tall  temple  playing  bright — 
Well-tutored  Learning,  from  his  books 
Dismissed  with  grave,  not  haughty,  looks. 
Their  order  on  his  shelves  exact, 
Not  more  harmonious  or  compact 
Than  that,  to  which  he  keeps  confined 
The  various  treasures  of  his  mind 
All  these  to  Montagu's  repair, 
Ambitious  of  a  shelter  there. 
There  Genius,  learning,  Fancy,  Wit, 
Their  ruffled  plumage  calm  refit, 
(For  stormy  troubles  loudest  roar 
Around  their  flight  who  highest  soar) 
And  in  her  eye,  and  by  her  aid, 
Shine  safe  without  a  fear  to  fade. 

She  thus  maintains  divided  sway 
With  yon  bright  regent  of  the  day ; 
The  plume  and  poet  both,  we  know, 
Their  lustre  to  his  influence  owe  ; 
And  she  the  works  of  Phoebus  aiding, 
Both  poet  saves  and  plume  from  fading. 


VERSES 

Supposed  to  be  written  by  Alexander  Selkirk,  during  hia  solitary  abode  In  tbt 
island  of  Juan  Fernandez. 

I  AM  monarch  of  all  I  survey, 

My  right  there  is  none  to  dispute  ; 
From  the  centre  all  round  to  the  sea, 

I  am  lord  of  the  fowl  and  the  brute. 

0  solitude  !  where  are  the  charms 
That  sages  have  seen  in  thy  face  ? 

Better  dwell  in  the  midst  of  alarms, 
Than  reign  in  this  horrible  place. 

1  am  out  of  humanity's  reach, 

Must  finish  my  journey  alone, 


340  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

Never  hear  the  sweet  music  of  speech, 
I  start  at  the  sound  of  my  own. 

The  beasts,  that  roam  over  the  plain, 
My  form  with  indifference  see ; 

They  are  so  unacquainted  with  man, 
Their  tameness  is  shocking  to  me. 

Society,  friendship,  and  love. 

Divinely  bestowed  upon  man, 
O,  had  I  the  wings  of  a  dove, 

How  soon  would  I  taste  you  again  ! 
My  sorrows  I  then  might  assuage 

In  the  ways  of  religion  and  truth, 
Might  learn  from  the  wisdom  of  age, 

And  be  cheered  by  the  sallies  of  youth, 

Religion  !  what  treasure  untold 

Resides  in  that  heavenly  word ! 
More  precious  than  silver  and  gold, 

Or  all  that  this  earth  can  afford. 
But  the  sound  of  the  church-going  bell 

These  valleys  and  rocks  never  heard, 
Never  sighed  at  the  sound  of  a  knell, 

Or  smiled  when  a  sabbath  appeared 

Ye  winds  that  have  made  me  your  sport, 

Convey  to  this  desolate  shore 
Some  cordial  endearing  report 

Of  a  land  I  shall  visit  no  more. 
My  friends,  do  they  now  and  then  send 

A  wish  or  a  thought  after  me  ? 
O  tell  me  I  yet  have  a  friend, 

Though  a  friend  I  am  never  to  see. 

How  fleet  is  a  glance  of  the  mind  ! 

Compared  with  the  speed  of  its  flight, 
The  tempest  itself  lags  behind, 

And  the  swift  winged  arrows  of  light. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  .*U 

When  I  think  of  my  own  native  land, 

In  a  moment  I  seem  to  be  there  ; 
But  alas !  recollection  at  hand 

Soon  hurries  me  back  to  despair. 

• 
But  the  seafowl  is  gone  to  her  nest, 

The  beast  has  laid  down  in  his  lair ; 
Even  here  is  a  season  of  rest, 

And  I  to  my  cabin  repair. 
There's  mercy  in  every  place, 

And  mercy,  encouraging  thought ! 
Gives  even  affliction  a  grace, 

And  reconciles  man  to  his  lot 


ON    THE 

PROMOTION  OF  EDWARD  THURLOW,  ESO. 

To  the  Lord  High  Chancellorship  of  England. 

ROUND  Thurlow's  head  in  early  youth, 

And  in  his  sportive  days, 
Fair  Science  poured  the  light  of  truth, 

And  Genius  shed  his  rays. 

See  !  with  united  wonder  cried 

Th'  experienced  and  the  sage, 
Ambition  in  a  boy  supplied 

With  all  the  skill  of  age  ! 

Discernment,  eloquence,  and  grace, 

Proclaim  him  born  to  sway 
The  balance  in  the  highest  place, 

And  bear  the  palm  away. 

The  praise  bestowed  was  just  and  wiso  ; 

He  sprang  impetuous  forth, 
Secure  of  conquest,  where  the  prize 

Attends  superior  worth. 
29* 


342  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

So  the  best  courser  on  the  plain 
Ere  yet  he  starts  is  known, 

And  does  but  at  the  goal  obtain, 
What  all  had  deemed  his  own. 


ODE   TO   PEACE. 

COME,  peace  of  mind,  delightful  guest . 
Return,  and  make  thy  downy  nest 

Once  more  in  this  sad  heart : 
Nor  rkhes  I  nor  power  pursue, 
Nor  hold  forbidden  joys  in  view ; 

We  therefore  need  not  part. 

Where  wilt  thou  dwell,  if  not  with  me, 
From  avarice  and  ambition  free, 

And  pleasure's  fatal  wiles  ? 
For  whom,  alas  !  dost  thou  prepare 
The  sweets  that  I  was  wont  to  share, 

The  banquet  of  thy  smiles  ? 

The  great,  the  gay,  shall  they  partake 
The  heaven  that  thou  alone  canst  make, 

And  wilt  thou  quit  the  stream 
That  murmurs  through  the  dewy  mead, 
The  grove  and  the  sequestered  shed, 

To  be  a  guest  with  them  ? 

For  thee  I  panted,  thee  I  prized, 
For  thee  I  gladly  sacrificed 

Whate'er  I  loved  before  ; 
And  shall  I  see  thee  start  away, 
And  helpless,  hopeless,  hear  thee  say — 

Farewell !  we  meet  no  more  ? 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  343 


HUMAN    FRAILTY. 

WEAK  and  irresolute  is  man 

The  purpose  of  to-day, 
Woven  pains  into  his  plan, 

To-morrow  rends  away. 

The  bow  well  bent,  and  smart  the  spring, 

Vice  seems  already  slain ; 
But  passion  rudely  snaps  the  string, 

And  it  revives  again. 

Some  foe  to  his  upright  intent 

Finds  out  his  weaker  part ; 
Virtue  engages  his  assent, 

But  pleasure  wins  his  heart 

"Pis  here  the  folly  of  the  wise 
Through  all  his  art  we  view ; 

And,  while  his  tongue  the  charge  denies, 
His  conscience  owns  it  true. 

Bound  on  a  voyage  of  awful  length, 

And  dangers  little  known, 
A  stranger  to  superior  strength, 

Man  vainly  trusts  his  own. 

But  oars  alone  can  ne'er  prevail 

To  reach  the  distant  coast ; 
The  breath  of  heaven  must  swell  the  sail, 

Or  all  the  toil  is  lost 


THE  MODERN  PATRIOT. 

REBELLION  is  my  theme  all  day; 

I  only  wish  't  would  come 
(As  who  knows  but  perhaps  it  may  ?) 

A  little  nearer  home. 


344  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

Yon  roaring  boys,  who  rave  and  fight 
On  t'  other  side  th*  Atlantic, 

I  always  held  them  in  the  right, 
But  most  so  when  most  fi  antic. 

When  lawless  mobs  insult  the  court, 
That  man  shall  be  my  toast, 

If  breaking  windows  be  the  sport, 
Who  bravely  breaks  the  most. 

But  oh  !  for  him  my  fancy  culls 
The  choicest  flowers  she  bears. 

Who  constitutionally  pulls 
Your  house  about  your  ears. 

Such  civil  broils  are  my  delight, 

Though  some  folks  can't  endure  them, 

Who  say  the  mob  are  mad  outright. 
And  that  a  rope  must  cure  them. 

A  rope  !  I  wish  we  patriot  had 

Such  strings  for  all  who  need  'em — 

What !  hang  a  man  for  going  mad  ! 
Then  farewell  British  freedom. 


ON    OBSERVING   SOME   NAMES   OF   LITTLE   NOTE   RECORDED   Iff 
THE    BIOGRAPHIA   BRITANNICA. 

OH,  fond  attempt  to  give  a  deathless  lot 
To  names  ignoble,  born  to  be  forgot ! 
In  vain,  recorded  in  historic  page, 
They  court  the  notice  of  a  future  age : 
Those  twinkling  tiny  lustres  of  the  land 
Drop  one  by  one  from  Fame's  neglected  hand ; 
Lethgean  gulfs  receive  them  as  they  fall, 
And  dark  oblivion  soon  absorbs  them  all. 

So  when  a  child,  as  playful  children  use, 
Has  burnt  to  tinder  a  stale  last  year's  news, 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

The  flame  extinct,  he  views  the  roving  fire — 
There  goes  my  lady,  and  there  goes  the  squire. 
There  goes  the  parson^  oh  illustrious  spark ! 
And  there,  scarce  less  illustrious,  goes  the  clerk ! 


REPORT  OF  AN  ADJUDGED  CASE, 

NOT  TO  BE  FOUND  IN  ANY  OP  THE  BOOKS. 

BETWEEN  Nose  and  Eyes  a  strange  contest  arose, 
The  spectacles  set  them  unhappily  wrong  ; 

The  point  in  dispute  was,  as  all  the  world  knows. 
To  which  the  said  spectacles  ought  to  belong. 

So  Tongue  was  the  lawyer,  arid  argued  the  cause 
With  a  great  deal  of  skill,  and  a  wig  full  OT 
learning ; 

While  chief  baron  Ear  sat  to  balance  the  laws, 
So  famed  for  his  talent  in  nicely  discerning. 

In  behalf  of  the  Nose  it  will  quickly  appear, 

And  your  lordship,  he  said,  will  undoubtedly  find, 

That  the  Nose  has  had  spectacles  always  to  wear, 
Which  amounts  to  possession  time  out  of  mind. 

Then  holding  the  spectacles  up  to  the  court — 
Your  lordship  observes  they  are  made  with  a 
straddle 

As  wide  as  the  ridge  of  the  Nose  is  ;  in  short, 
Designed  to  sit  close  to  it,  just  like  a  saddle. 

Again,  would  your  lordship  a  moment  suppose 
('Tis  a  case  that  has  happened,  and  may  be 

again) 

That  the  visage  or  countenance  had  not  a  nose, 
Pray  who  would,  or  who  could,  wear  spectacles 
then? 

On  the  whole  it  appears,  and  my  argument  shows, 
With  a  reasoning  the  court  will  never  condemn, 


346  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

That  the  spectacles  plainly  were  made  for  the  Nose, 
AT  d  the  Nose  was  as  plainly  intended  for  them. 

Then  shifting  his  side  (as  a  lawyer  knows  how,) 
He  pleaded  again  in  behalf  of  the  Eyes ; 

But  what  were  his  arguments  few  people  know, 
For  the  court  did  not  think  they  were  equally 
wise. 

So  his  lordship  decreed  witn  a  grave  solemn  tone, 
Decisive  and  clear,  without  one  if  or  but — 

That,  whenever  the  Nose  put  his  spectacles  on, 
By  daylight  or  candlelight — Eves  should  be  shut f 


ON  THE  BURNING  OF  LORD  MANSFIELD'S 
LIBRARY, 

TOGETHER  WITH  HIS  MSS., 
By  the  mob,  in  the  month  of  June,  1780. 

So  then — the  Vandals  of  our  isle, 

Sworn  foes  to  sense  and  law, 
Have  burnt  to  dust  a  nobler  pile 

Than  ever  Roman  saw  ! 

And  MURRAY  sighs  o'er  Pope  and  Swift 

And  many  a  treasure  more, 
The  well-judged  purchase,  and  the  gift, 

That  graced  his  lettered  store. 

Their  pages  mangled,  burnt  and  torn, 

The  loss  was  his  alone  ; 
But  ages  yet  to  come  shall  mourn 

The  burning  of  his  own. 


ON  THE  SAME. 

WHEN  wit  and  genius  meet  their  doom 
In  all  devouring  flame, 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  347 

They  tell  us  of  the  fate  of  Rome, 
And  bid  us  fear  the  same. 

O'er  MURRAY'S  loss  the  Muses  wept 

They  felt  the  rude  alarm, 
Yet  blest  the  guardian  care  that  kept 

His  sacred  head  from  harm. 

There  Memory,  like  the  bee,  that's  fed 

From  Flora's  balmy  store, 
The  quintescence  of  ail  he  read 

Had  treasured  up  before. 

The  lawless  herd,  with  fury  blind, 

Have  done  him  cruel  wrong ; 
The  flowers  are  gone — but  still  we  find 

The  honey  on  his  tongue 


THE  LOVE  OF  THE  WORLD  REPROVED  \ 

OR   HYPOCRISY   DETECTED*. 

THUS  says  the  prophet  of  the  Turk, 
Good  Mussulman,  abstain  from  pork  ; 
There  is  a  part  in  every  swine 
No  friend  or  follower  of  mine 
May  taste,  what'er  his  inclination, 
On  pain  of  excommunication. 
Such  Mahomet's  mysterious  charge, 
And  thus  he  left  the  point  at  large. 
Had  he  the  sinful  part  expressed, 
They  might  with  safety  eat  the  rest ; 
But  for  one  piece  they  thought  it  hard 
From  the  whole  hog  to  be  debarred  j 
And  set  their  wit  at  vvorK  to  find 
What  joint  the  prophet  had  in  mind. 

•  It  may  be  proper  to  inform  the  reader,  that  this  piece  has  already 
appeared  in  print,  having  found  its  way,  though  with  some  unnecessary 
additions  by  an  unknown  hand,  into  the  Leeds  Journal  without  the  au- 
thor's privity. 


343  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS 

Much  controversy  straight  arose, 
These  choose  the  back,  the  belly  those : 
By  some  'tis  confidently  said 
He  meant  not  to  forbid  the  head  ; 
While  others  at  that  doctrine  rail, 
And  piously  prefer  the  tail. 
Thus,  conscience  freed  from  every  clog, 
Mahometans  eat  up  the  hog. 

You  laugh — 'tis  well. — The  tale  applied 
May  make  you  laugh  on  t'  other  side. 
Renounce  the  world — the  preacher  cries. 
We  do — a  multitude  replies. 
While  one  as  innocent  regards 
A  snug  and  friendly  game  at  cards  ; 
And  one,  whatever  you  may  say, 
Can  see  no  evil  in  a  play  ; 
Some  love  a  concert,  or  a  race  ; 
And  others  shooting,  and  the  chase. 
Reviled  and  loved,  renounced  and  followed, 
Thus,  bit  by  bit  the  world  is  swallowed  ; 
Each  thinks  his  neighbour  makes  too  free, 
Yet  like£  a  slice  as  well  as  he ; 
With  sophistry  their  sauce  they  sweeten, 
Till  quite  from  tail  to  snout  'tis  eaten. 


ON  THE  DEATH 

OP  MRS.  (NOW  LADY)  THROCKMORTON  s  BULPINCH. 

YE  nymphs  !  if  e'er  your  eyes  were  red 
With  tears  o'er  hapless  favourites  shed, 

O  share  Maria's  grief! 
Her  favourite,  even  in  this  cage, 
(What  will  not  hunger's  cruel  rage  ?) 

Assassined  by  a  thief. 

Where  Rhenus  strays  his  vines  among, 
The  egg  was  laid  from  which  he  sprung , 
And.  though  by  nature  mute, 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  349 

Or  only  with  a  whistle  blest, 
Well-taught  he  all  the  sounds  expressed 
Of  flagelet  or  flute. 

The  honours  of  his  ebon  pole 

Were  brighter  than  the  sleekest  mole ; 

His  bosom  of  the  hue 
With  which  Aurora  decks  the  skies, 
When  piping  winds  shall  soon  arise, 

To  sweep  away  the  dew. 

Above,  below,  in  all  the  house, 
Dire  foe  alike  of  bird  and  mouse, 

No  cat  had  leave  to  dwell ; 
And  bully's  cage  supported  stood 
On  props  of  smoothest-shaven  wood. 

Large  built  and  latticed  well. 

Well  latticed  —but  the  grate,  alas  ! 
Not  rough  with  wire  of  steel  or  bras&, 

For  bully's  plumage  sake, 
But  smooth  with  wands  from  Ouse's  side, 
With  which,  when  neatly  peeled  and  dried, 

The  swains  their  baskets  make. 

Night  veiled  the  pole,  all  seemed  secure  : 
When  led  by  instinct  sharp  and  sure, 

Subsistence  to  provide, 
A  beast  forth  sallied  on  the  scout, 
Long-backed,  long-tailed,  with  whiskered  snout 

And  badger-coloured  hide. 

He,  entering  at  the  sturdy  door 
Its  ample  area  'gan  explore  ; 

And  something  in  the  wind 
Conjectured,  sniffing  round  and  round. 
Better  than  all  the  books  he  found, 

Food  chiefly  for  the  mind. 

Just  then,  by  adverse  fate  impressed,  „ 
A  dream  disturbed  poor  hnllv's  rest: 
30 


350  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

In  sleep  he  seemed  to  view 
A  rat  fast  clinging  to  the  cage, 
And  screaming  at  the  sad  presage, 

Awoke  and  found  it  true. 

For,  aided  both  by  ear  and  scent, 

Right  to  his  mark  the  monster  went — 
Ah,  muse  !  forbear  to  speak 

Minute  the  horrors  that  ensued  ; 

His  teeth  were  strong,  the  cage  was  wood- 
He  left  poor  bully's  beak. 

Oh  had  he  made  that  too  his  prey ; 
That  beak  whence  issued  many  a  lay 

Of  such  mellifluous  tone, 
Might  have  repaid  him  well,  I  wote, 
For  silencing  so  sweet  a  throat, 

Fast  stuck  within  his  own. 


Maria  weeps — the  muses  mourn — 
So,  when  by  Bacchanalians  torn, 

On  Thracian  Hebrus'  side 
The  tree-enchanter  Orpheus  fell, 
His  head  alone  remained  to  tell 

The  cruel  death  he  died. 


THE    ROSE. 

THE  Rose  had  been   washed,  just  washed    in   a 
shower 

Which  Mary  to  Anna  conveyed, 
The  plentiful  moisture  encumbered  the  flower. 

And  weighed  down  its  beautiful  head. 

The  cup  was  all  filled,  and  the  leaves  were  all  wtt. 

And  it  seemed  to  a  fanciful  view. 
To  weep  for  the  buds  it  had  left  with  regret 

On  the  flourishing  bush  where  it  #revv. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  351 

I  hastily  seized  it,  unfit  as  it  was 

For  a  nosegay,  so  dripping  and  drowned, 

And  swinging  it  rudely,  too  rudely,  alas  ! 
I  snapped  it,  it  fell  to  the  ground. 

And  such,  I  exclaimed,  is  the  pitiless  part 

Some  act  by  the  delicate  mind, 
Regardless  of  wringing  and  breaking  a  heart 

Already  to  sorrow  resigned. 

This  elegant  rose,  had  I  shaken  it  less, 

Might  have  bloomed  with  its  owner  awhile  ; 

And  the  tear  that  is  wiped  with  a  little  address, 
May  be  followed  perhaps  by  a  smile. 


THE    DOVES. 

REASONING  at  every  step  he  treads, 

Man  yet  mistakes  his  way, 
While  meaner  things,  whom  instinct  leads, 

Are  rarely  known  to  stray. 

One  silent  eve  I  wandered  late, 

And  heard  the  voice  of  love  ; 
The  turtle  thus  addressed  her  mate, 

And  soothed  the  listening  dove  : 

Our  mutual  bond  of  faith  and  truth 

No  time  shall  disengage, 
Those  blessings  of  our  early  youth 

Shall  cheer  our  latest  age  : 

While  innocence  without  disguise, 

And  constancy  sincere, 
Shall  fill  the  circle  of  those  eyes. 

And  mine  can  read  them  there. 

Those  ills  that  wait  on  all  below, 
Shall  ne'er  be  felt  by  mo, 


852  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

Or  gently  felt,  and  only  so, 
As  being  shared  with  thee. 

When  lightnings  flash  among  the  trees, 
Or  kites  are  hovering  near, 

I  fear  lest  thee  alone  they  seize, 
And  know  no  other  fear. 

'Tis  then  I  feel  myself  a  wife, 
And  press  thy  wedded  side, 

Resolved  a  union  formed  for  life, 
Death  never  shall  divide. 

But  oh  !  if  fickle  and  unchaste, 
(Forgive  a  transient  thought) 

Thou  couldst  become  unkind  at  last, 
And  scorn  thy  present  lot. 

No  need  of  lightnings  from  on  high, 

Or  kites  with  cruel  beak ; 
Denied  the  endearments  of  thine  eye, 

This  widowed  heart  would  break. 

Thus  sang  the  sweet  sequestered  bird, 

Soft  as  the  passing  wind  ; 
And  I  recorded  what  I  heard, 

A  lesson  for  mankind. 


A    FABLE. 

A  RAVEN,  while  with  glossy  breast 
Her  new-laid  eggs  she  fondly-pressed, 
And  on  her  wickerwork  high  mounted, 
Her  chickens  prematurely  counted. 
(A  fault  philosophers  might  blame 
If  quite  exempted  from  the  same,) 
Enjoyed  at  ease  the  genial  day ; 
/Twas  April,  as  the  bumpkins  say, 
The  legislature  called  it  May. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

But  suddenly  a  wind  as  high 

As  ever  swept  a  winter  sky, 

Shook  the  young  leaves  about  her  ears, 

And  filled  her  with  a  thousand  fears, 

Lest  the  rude  blast  should  snap  the  bough, 

And  spread  her  golden  hopes  below. 

But  just  at  eve  the  blowing  weather 

And  all  her  fears  were  hushed  together : 

And  now,  quoth  poor  unthinking  Ralph, 

7Tis  over  and  the  brood  is  safe  ; 

(For  ravens,  though  as  birds  of  omen 

They  teach  both  conjurers  and  old  women, 

To  tell  us  what  is  to  befall, 

Can't  prophesy  themselves  at  all.) 

The  morning  came,  when  neighbour  Hodge 

Who  long  had  marked  her  airy  lodge, 

And  destined  all  the  treasure  there 

A  gift  to  his  expecting  fair, 

Climbed  like  a  squirrel  to  his  dray, 

And  bore  the  worthless  prize  away. 

MORAL. 

'Tis  Providence  alone  securer 
In  every  change  both  mine  a»d  yours; 
Safety  consists  not  in  escape 
From  dangers  of  a  frightful  shape ; 
An  earthquake  may  be  bid  to  spare 
The  man,  that's  strangled  by  a  hair. 
Fate  steals  along  with  silent  tread, 
Found  oftenest  in  what  least  we  dread ; 
Frowns  in  the  storm  with  angry  brow, 
But  in  the  sunshine  strikes  the  blow 

A    COMPARISON. 

THE  lapse  of  time  and  rivers  is  the  same, 
Both  speed  their  journev  with  a  restless  stream 


354  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

The  silent  pace,  with  which  they  steal  away 
No  wealth  can  bribe,  no  prayers  persuade  to  stay; 
Alike  irrevocable  both  when  past, 
And  a  wide  ocean  swallows  both  at  last. 
Though  each  resemble  each  in  every  part, 
A  difference  strikes  at  length  the  musing  heart 
Streams  never  flow  in  vain  where  streams  abound, 
How  laughs  the  land  with  various  plenty  crowned ! 
But  time,  that  should  enrich  the  nobler  mind, 
Neglected  leaves  a  dreary  waste  behind. 


ANOTHER. 

ADDRESSED   TO   A   YOUNG   LADY. 

SWEET  stream,  that  winds  through  yonder  glade, 

Apt  emblem  of  a  virtuous  maid — 

Silent  and  chaste  she  steals  along, 

Far  from  the  world's  gay  busy  throng; 

With  gentle  yet  prevailing  force, 

Intent  upon  her  destined  course  ; 

Graceful  and  useful  all  she  does, 

Blessing  and  blest  where'er  she  goes ; 

Pure-bosomed  as  that  watery  glass, 

And  heaven  reflected  in  her  face. 


THE    POET'S    NEW-YEAR'S    GIFT. 
TO  MRS.  (NOW  LADY)  THROCKMORTON. 

MARIA  !  I  have  every  good 

For  thee  wished  many  a  time, 
Both  sad  and  in  a  cheerful  mood, 

But  never  yet  in  rhyme. 

To  wish  thee  fairer  is  no  need, 
More  prudent  or  more  sprightly, 

Or  more  ingenious,  or  more  freed 
From  temper-flaws  unsightly. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS  355 

What  favour  then  not  yet  possessed, 

Can  I  for  thee  require, 
In  wedded  love  already  blest, 

To  thy  whole  heart's  desire  ? 

None  here  is  happy  but  in  part ; 

Full  bliss  is  bliss  divine  ; 
There  dwells  some  wish  in  every  heart> 

And  doubtless  one  in  thine. 

That  wish,  on  some  fair  future  day, 

Which  fate  shall  brightly  gild, 
('Tis  blameless,  be  it  what  it  may,) 

I  wish  it  all  fulfilled. 



ODE    TO   APOLLO. 

ON    AN   INK-GLASS   ALMOST   DRIED   IN   THE  SUM. 

PATRON  of  all  those  luckless  brains, 

That,  to  the  wrong  side  leaning, 
Indite  much  metre  with  much  pains, 

And  little  or  no  meaning : 

Ah  why,  since  oceans,  rivers,  streams, 

That  water  all  the  nations, 
Pay  tribute  to  thy  glorious  beams, 

In  constant  exhalations ; 

Why,  stooping  from  the  noon  of  day, 

Too  covetous  of  drink, 
Apollo,  hast  thou  stolen  away 

A  poet's  drop  of  ink  ? 

Upborne  into  the  viewless  air 

It  floats  a  vapour  now, 
Impelled  through  regions  dense  and  rara, 

By  all  the  winds  that  blow. 

Ordained  perhaps  ere  summer  flies, 
Combined  with  millions  more. 


356  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

To  form  an  Iris  in  the  skies, 
Though  black  and  foul  before. 

Illustrious  drop !  and  happy  then 

Beyond  the  happiest  lot, 
Of  all  that  ever  past  my  pen, 

So  soon  to  be  forgot ! 

Phoebus,  if  such  be  thy  design, 

To  place  it  in  thy  bow, 
Give  wit.  that  what  is  left  may  shine 

With  equal  grace  below. 


PAIRING    TIME    ANTICIPATED 

A    FABLE. 

I  SHALL  not  ask  Jean  Jacques  Rosseau,* 
If  birds  confabulate  or  no  ; 
'Tis  clear,  that  they  were  always  able 
To  hold  discourse,  at  least  in  fable ; 
And  e'en  the  child,  that  knows  no  better 
Than  to  interpret  by  the  lettei 
A  story  of  a  cock  and  bull, 
Must  have  a  most  uncommon  scull. 

It  chanced  then  on  winter's  day, 
But  warm,  and  bright,  and  calm  as  May, 
The  birds,  conceiving  a  design 
To  forestall  sweet  St.  Valentine, 
In  many  an  orchard,  copse,  and  grove, 
Assembled  on  affairs  of  love, 
And  with  much  twitter  and  much  chatter, 
Began  to  agitate  the  matter. 
At  length  a  Bulfinch,  who  could  boast 
More  years  and  wisdom  than  the  most, 
Entreated,  opening  wide  his  beak, 

*  It  was  one  of  the  whimsical  speculations  of  this  philosopher,  that 
all  fables  which  ascribe  reason  and  speech  to  animals  should  be  withheld 
from  children,  as  being  only  vehicles  of  deception.  But  what  child  was 
over  deceived  by  th,;in,  <>/  can  be  against  the  evidence  of  his  senses  'J 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  357 

A  moment's  liberty  to  speak  ; 
And,  silence  publicly  enjoined, 
Delivered  briefly  thus  in  mind  : 

My  friends  !  be  cautious  how  ye  treat 
The  subject  upon  which  we  meet : 
I  fear  we  shall  have  winter  yet. 

A  Finch  whose  tongue  knew  no  control 
With  golden  wing,  and  satin  poll, 
A  last  year's  bird,  who  ne'er  had  tried 
What  marriage  means,  thus  pert  replied : 

Methinks  the  gentleman,  quoth  she, 
Opposite  in  the  apple-tree, 
By  his  good  will  would  keep  us  single 
Till  yonder  heaven  and  earth  shall  mingle, 
Or  (which  is  likelier  to  befall) 
Till  death  exterminate  us  all.         • 
I'll  marry  without  more  ado,  • 

My  dear  Dick  Redcap,  what  say  you  ? 

Dick  heard,  and  tweedling,  ogling,  bridling, 
Turning  short  round,  strutting  and  sideling, 
Attested,  glad,  his  approbation 
Of  an  immediate  conjugation. 
Their  sentiments,  so  well  expressed, 
Influenced  mightily  the  rest ; 
All  paired,  and  each  pair  built  a  nest 

But  though  the  birds  were  thus  in  haste, 
The  leaves  came  not  on  quite  so  fast, 
And  Destiny,  that  sometimes  bears 
An  aspect  stern  on  man's  affairs, 
Not  altogether  smiled  on  theirs. 
The  wind,  of  late  breathed  gently  forth, 
Now  shifted  east,  and  east  by  north ; 
Bare  trees  and  shrubs  but  ill,  you  know 
Could  shelter  them  from  rain  or  snow ; 
Stepping  into  their  nests,  they  paddled, 


358  .MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

Themselves  were  chilled,  their  eggs  were  addled, ; 

Soon  every  father  bird  and  mother 

Grew  quarrelsome  and  pecked  each  other, 

Parted  without  the  least  regret, 

Except  that  they  had  ever  met, 

And  learned  in  future  to  be  wiser, 

Than  to  neglect  a  good  adviser. 

MORAL. 

Misses  !  the  tale  that  I  relate 

This  lesson  seems  to  carry — 
Choose  not  alone  a  proper  mate, 
But  proper  time  to  marry. 


THE  DOG   AND   THE    WATERLILY. 

NO    FABLE. 

THE  noon  w&s  shady,  and  soft  airs 

Swept  Ouse's  silent  tide, 
When,  'scaped  from  literary  cares, 

I  wandered  on  his  side. 

My  spaniel,  prettiest  of  his  race, 

And  high  in  pedigree, 
(Two  nymphs*  adorned  with  every  grace 

That  spaniel  found  for  me.) 

Now  wantoned,  lost  in  flags  and  reeds, 

Now  starting  into  sight, 
Pursued  the  swallows  o'er  the  meads 

With  scarce  a  slower  flight. 

It  was  the  time  when  Ouse  displayed 

His  lilies  newly  blown  ; 
Their  beauties  I  intent  surveyed 

And  one  I  wished  my  own. 

With  cane  extended  far  I  sought 
To  steer  it  close  to  land ; 

*  Sir  Robert  Gunning's  daughter* 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  358 

But  still  the  prize,  though  nearly  caught, 
Escaped  my  eager  hand. 

Beau  marked  my  unsuccessful  pains 

With  fixed  considerate  face, 
And  puzzling  set  his  puppy  brains 

To  comprehend  the  case. 

But  with  a  cherup  clear  and  strong, 

Dispersing  all  his  dream, 
I  thence  withdrew,  and  followed  long 

The  windings  of  the  stream. 

My  ramble  ended,  I  returned; 

Beau,  trotting  far  before, 
The  floating  wreath  again  discerned, 

And  plunging  left  the  shore. 

I  saw  him  with  that  lily  cropped 

Impatient  swim  to  meet 
My  quick  approach,  and  soon  he  dropped 

The  treasure  at  my  feet- 
Charmed  with  the  sight,  the  world,  I  cried; 

Shall  hear  of  this  thy  deed : 
My  dog  shall  mortify  the  pride 

Of  man's  superior  breed. 

*      But  chief  myself  I  will  enjoin, 

Awake  at  duty's  cal), 
To  show  a  love  as  prompt  as  thine 
To  him  who  gives  me  all. 

THE    POET,    THE    OYSTER,    AND    SENSITIVE 
PLANT. 

AN  Oyster  cast  upon  the  shore, 
Was  heard,  though  never  heard  before, 
Complaining  in  a  speech  well  worded — 
And  worthv  thus  to  be  recorded  : — 


360  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS 

Ah,  hapless  wretch,  condemned  to  dwell 
For  ever  in  my  native  shell : 
Ordained  to  move  when  others  please, 
Not  for  my  own  content  or  ease  ; 
But  tossed  and  buffeted  about, 
Now  in  the  water  and  now  out. 
'Twere  better  to  be  born  a  stone, 
Of  ruder  shape,  and  feeling  none, 
Than  with  a  tenderness  like  mine, 
And  sensibilities  so  fine  ! 
I  envy  that  unfeeling  shrub, 
Fast-rooted  against  every  rub. 

The  plant  he  meant,  grew  not  far  off, 
And  felt  the  sneer  with  scorn  enough ; 
Was  hurt,  disgusted,  mortified, 
And  with  asperity  replied. 

When  cry  the  botanists  and  stare, 
Did  plants  called  sensitive  grow  there  ? 
No  matter  when — a  poef  s  muse  is 
To  make  them  grow  just  where  she  chooses. 

You  shapeless  nothing  in  a  dish, 
You  that  are  but  almost  a  fish, 
I  scorn  your  coarse  insinuation, 
And  have  most  plentiful  occasion 
To  wish  myself  the  rock  I  view, 
Or  such  another  dolt  as  you  : 
For  many  a  grave  and  learned  clerk, 
And  many  a  gay  unlettered  spark, 
With  curious  touch  examines  me, 
If  I  can  feel  as  well  as  he ; 
And  when  I  bend,  retire  and  shrink, 
Says — Well,  'tis  more  than  one  would  think  ! 
Thus  life  is  spent  (oh  fie  upon  't !) 
In  being  touched,  and  crying — Don't ! 

A  poet,  in  his  evening  walk, 
O'erheard  arid  checked  this  idle  talk. 
And  your  fine  sense,  he  said,  and  youis, 
Whatever  evil  it  endures 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  35] 

Deserves  not,  if  so  soon  offended, 
Much  to  be  pitied  or  commended. 
Disputes,  though  short,  are  far  too  long, 
Where  both  alike  are  in  the  wrong ; 
Your  feelings  in  their  full  amount, 
Are  all  upon  your  own  account. 

You,  in  your  grotto-work  enclosed, 
Complain  of  being  thus  exposed ; 
Yet  nothing  feel  in  that  rough  coat, 
Save  when  the  knife  is  at  your  throat, 
Wherever  driven  by  wind  or  tide, 
Exempt  from  every  ill  beside. 

And  as  for  you,  my  Lady  Squeamish, 
Who  reckon  every  touch  a  blemish, 
If  all  the  plants,  that  can  be  found 
Embellishing  the  scene  around, 
Should  droop  and  wither  where  they  grow, 
You  would  riot  feel  at  all — not  you. 
The  noblest  minds  their  virtue  prove 
By  pity,  sympathy,  and  love : 
These,  these  are  feelings  truly  fine, 
And  prove  their  owner  half  divine. 

His  censure  reached  them  as  he  dealt  it, 
And  each  by  shrinking  showed  he  felt  it 


THE  SHRUBBERY. 

WRITTEN  IN  A  TIME  OP  AFFLICTION. 

OH,  happy  shades — to  me  unblest 
Friendly  to  peace,  but  not  to  me. 

How  ill  the  scene  that  offers  rest, 
And  heart  that  cannot  rest,  agree ! 

This  glassy  stream,  that  spreading  pine, 
Those  alders  quivering  to  the  breeze, 

Might  soothe  a  soul  less  hurt  than  mine, 
And  please,  if  any  thing  could  please. 
3i 


:>  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

But  fixed  unalterable  Care 

Foregoes  not  what  she  feels  within, 
Shows  the  same  sadness  every  where, 

And  slights  the  season  and  the  scene. 

For  all  that  pleased  in  wood  or  lawn, 

While  Peace  possessed  these  silent  boweis, 

Her  animating  smile  withdrawn, 
Has  lost  its  beauties  and  its  powers. 

The  saint  or  moralist  should  tread 
This  moss-grown  alley  musing,  slow ; 

They  seek  like  me  the  secret  shade, 
But  not  like  me  to  nourish  wo  ! 

Me  fruitful  scenes  and  prospects  waste 

Alike  admonish  not  to  roam ; 
These  tell  me  of  enjoyments  past, 

And  those  of  sorrows  yet  to  come. 


THE  WINTER  NOSEGAY. 

WHAT  Nature,  alas  !  has  denied 

To  the  delicate  growth  of  our  isle, 
Art  has  in  a  measure  supplied, 

And  winter  is  decked  with  a  smile. 
See,  Mary,  what  beauties  I  bring 

From  the  shelter  of  that  sunny  shed, 
Where  the  flowers  have  the  charms  of  the 

Though  abroad  they  are  frozen  and  dsad 

'Tis  a  bower  of  Arcadian  sweets, 

Where  Flora  is  still  in  her  prime, 
A  fortress  to  which  she  retreats 

From  the  cruel  assaults  of  the  clime. 
While  Earth  wears  a  mantle  of  snow, 

These  pinks  are  as  fresh  and  as  gay 
AS  the  fairest  and  sweetest  that  blow 

On  the  beautiful  bosom  of  May. 


MISCELLANfcUT/S     POEMS.  303 

See  how  they  have  safely  survived 

The  frowns  of  a  sky  so  severe  ; 
Such  Mary's  true  love,  that  has  lived 

Through  many  a  turbulent  year. 
The  charms  of  the  late  blowing  rose 

Seemed  graced  with  a  livelier  hue, 
And  the  winter  of  sorrow  best  shows 

The  truth  of  a  friend  such  as  you. 


MUTUAL  FORBEARANCE, 

NECESSARY  TO  THE  HAPPINESS  OF  THE  MARRIED  STATB 

THE  lady  thus  addressed  her  spouse  : 
What  a  mere  dungeon  is  this  house ! 
By  no  means  large  enough  :  and  was  it, 
Yet  this  dull  room,  and  that  dark  closet, 
Those  hangings  with  their  worn  out  graces, 
Long  beards,  long  noses,  and  pale  faces 
Are  such  an  antiquated  scene, 
They  overwhelm  me  with  the  spleen. 

Sir  Humphrey,  shooting  in  the  dark, 
Makes  answer  quite  beside  the  mark : 
No  doubt,  my  dear,  I  bade  him  come, 
Engaged  myself  to  be  at  home, 
And  shall  expect  him  at  the  door 
Precisely  when  the  clock  strikes  four. 

You  are  so  deaf,  the  lady  cried, 
(And  raised  her  voice  and  frowned  beside,) 
You  are  so  sadly  deaf,  my  dear, 
What  shall  I  do  to  make  you  hear  ? 

Dismiss  poor  Harry  !  he  replies  ; 
Some  people  are  more  nice  than  wise : 
For  one  slight  trespass  all  this  stir  ? 
What  if  he  did  ride  whip  and  spur, 
'Twas  but  a  mile — your  favourite  horse 
Will  never  look  one  hair  the  worse. 


364  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

W&11,  I  protest  'tis  past  all  bearing — • 
Child  !  I  am  rather  hard  of  hearing — 
Yes,  truly ;  one  must  scream  and  ball : 
I  tell  you,  you  can't  hear  at  all ! 
Then,  with  a  voice  exceeding  low, 
No  matter  if  you  hear  or  no.' 

Alas  !  and  is  domestic  strife, 
That  sorest  ill  of  human  life, 
A  plague  so  little  to  be  feared, 
As  to  be  wantonly  incurred, 
To  gratify  a  fretful  passion, 
On  every  trivial  provocation  ? 
The  kindest  and  the  happiest  pair 
Will  find  occasion  to  forbear : 
And  something,  every  day  they  live, 
To  pity,  and  perhaps  forgive. 
But  if  infirmities,  that  fall 
In  common  to  the  lot  of  all, 
A  blemish  or  a  sense  impaired, 
Are  crimes  so  little  to  be  spared, 
Then  farewell  all  that  must  create 
The  comfort  of  the  wedded  state  ; 
Instead  of  harmony,  'tis  jar, 
And  tumult,  and  intestine  war. 

The  Icve  that  cheers  life's  latest  stage, 
Proof  against  sickness  and  old  age, 
Preserved  by  virtue  from  declension, 
Becomes  not  weary  of  attention ; 
But  lives,  when  that  exterior  grace, 
Which  first  inspired  the  flame,  decays, 
'Tis  gentle,  delicate,  and  kind, 
To  faults  compassionate  or  blind, 
And  will  with  sympathy  endure 
Those  evils  it  would  gladly  cure  : 
But  angry,  coarse,  and  harsh  expression 
Shows  lo^e  to  be  a  mere  profession  ; 
Proves  that  the  heart  is  none  of  his, 
Or  soon  expels  him  if  it  is. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  365 


THE  NEGRO'S  COMPLAINT, 

FORCED  from  home  and  all  its  pleasures 

Afric's  coast  I  left  forlorn  ; 
To  increase  a  stranger's  treasures, 

O'er  the  raging  billows  borne, 
Men  from  England  bought  and  sold  me, 

Paid  my  price  in  paltry  gold ; 
But,  though  slave  they  have  enrolled  me 

Minds  are  never  to  be  sold. 

Still  in  thought  as  free  as  ever, 

What  are  England's  rights,  I  ask, 
Me  from  my  delights  to  sever, 

Me  to  torture,  me  to  task  ? 
Fleecy  locks  and  black  complexion 

Cannot  forfeit  Nature's  claim ; 
Skins  may  differ,  but  affection 

Dwells  in  white  and  black  the  same. 

Why  did  all  creating  Nature 

Make  the  plant  for  which  we  toil  ? 
Sighs  must  fan  it,  tears  must  water, 

Sweat  of  ours  must  dress  the  soil. 
Think,  ye  masters,  iron-hearted, 

Lolling  at  your  jovial  boards  ; 
Think  how  many  backs  have  smarted 

For  the  sweets  your  cane  affords. 

Is  there,  as  ye  sometimes  tell  us, 

Is  there  one  who  reigns  on  high  ? 
Has  he  bid  you  buy  and  sell  us, 

Speaking  from  his  throne  the  sky  ? 
Ask  him,  if  your  knotted  scourges, 

Matches,  blood-extorting  screws 
Are  the  means  that  duty  urges 

Agents  of  his  will  to  use  ? 
31* 


366  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

Hark  !  he  answers — wild  tornadoes, 

Strewing  yonder  sea  with  wrecks  ; 
Wasting  towns,  plantations,  meadows, 

Are  the  voice  with  which  he  speaks. 
He,  foreseeing  what  vexations 

Afric's  sons  should  undergo, 
Fixed  their  tyrant's  habitations 

Where  his  whirlwinds  answer — no. 

By  our  blood  in  Afric  wasted, 

Ere  our  necks  received  the  chain ; 
By  the  miseries  that  we  tasted, 

Crossing  in  your  barks  the  main ; 
By  our  suffering  since  ye  brought  us 

To  the  man-degrading  mart; 
All,  sustained  by  patience,  taught  us 

Only  by  a  broken  heart : 

Deem  our  nation  brutes  no  longer, 

Till  some  reason  ye  shall  find 
Worthier  of  regard,  and  stronger 

Than  the  colour  of  our  kind. 
Slaves  of  gold,  whose  sordid  dealings 

Tarnish  all  your  boasted  powers, 
Prove  that  you  have  human  feelings, 

Ere  you  proudly  question  ours  ! 


PITY  FOR  POOR  AFRICANS. 

'Video  meliora  proboque, 
Deteriora  sequor.' — 

1  OWN  I  am  shocked  at  the  purchase  of  slaves, 
And  fear  those  who  buy  them  and  sell  them  are 

knaves ; 
What  I  hear  of  their  hardships,  their  tortures,  and 

groans, 
Is  uirnost  enough  to  draw  pity  from  stones. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  367 

1  pity  them  greatly,  but  I  must  be  mum, 

For  how  could  we  do  without  sugar  and  rum'2 

Especially  sugar,  so  needful  we  see  ? 

What,  give  up  our  desserts,  our  coffee,  and  tea  ? 

Besides,  if  we  do,  the  French,  Dutch,  and  Danes, 
Will  heartily  thank  us,  no  doubt,  for  our  pains ; 
If  we  do  not  buy  the  poor  creatures,  they  will, 
And  tortures  and  groans  will  be  multiplied  still. 

If  foreigners  likewise  would  give  up  the  trade, 
Much  more  in  behalf  of  your  wish  might  be  said ; 
But,  while  they  get  riches  by  purchasing  blacks, 
Pray  tell  me  why  we  may  not  also  go  snacks  ? 

Your  scruples  and  arguments  bring  to  my  mind 
A  story  so  pat,  you  may  think  it  is  coined, 
On  purpose  to  answer  you,  out  of  my  mint ; 
But  I  can  assure  you  I  saw  it  in  print. 

A  youngster  at  school,  more  sedate  than  the  rest, 
Had  once  his  integrity  put  to  the  test ; 
His  comrades  had  plotted  an  orchard  to  rob, 
And  asked  him  to  go  and  assist  in  the  job. 

He  was  shocked,  sir,  like  you,  and  answered — 'Oh 

no! 
What !  rob  our  good  neighbour !  I  pray  you  don't 


Besides,  the  man's  poor,  his  orchard's  his  bread, 
Then  think  of  his  children,  for  they  must  be  fed.' 

*  You  speak  very  fine,  and  you  look  very  grave, 
But  apples  we  want,  and  apples  we'll  have ; 
If  you  will  go  with  us,  you  shall  have  a  share, 
If  not,  you  shall  have  neither  apple  nor  pear.' 

They  spoke,  and  Tom  pondered — '  I  see  they  will 

go: 
Poor  man  !  what  a  pity  to  injure  him  so  ! 


368  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

Poor  man  !  I  would  save  him  his  fruit  if  I  could, 
But  staying  behind  would  do  him  no  good. 

'  If  the  matter  depended  alone  upon  me, 
His  apples  might  hang  till  they  dropped  from  the  tree 
But,  since  they  will  take  them,  I  think  I'll  go  too, 
He  will  lose  none  by  me,  though  I  get  a  few. 

His  scruples  thus  silenced,  Tom  felt  more  at  ease, 
And  went  with  his  comrades  the  apples  to  seize ; 
He  blamed  and  protested,  but  joined  in  the  plan ; 
He  shared  in  the  plunder,  but  pitied  the  man. 


THE   MORNING  DREAM. 

'TWAS  in  tne  ^lad  season  of  spring, 

Asleep  at  the  dawn  of  the  day, 
I  dreamed  what  I  cannot  but  sing 

So  pleasant  it  seemed  as  I  lay. 
I  dreamed,  that,  on  ocean  afloat, 

Far  hence  to  the  westward  I  sailed, 
While  the  billows  high  lifted  the  boat, 

And  the  fresh-blowing  breeze  never  failed. 

In  the  steerage  a  woman  I  saw, 

Such  at  least  was  the  form  that  she  wore, 
Whose  beauty  impressed  me  with  awe, 

Ne'er  taught  me  by  woman  before. 
She  sat,  and  a  shield  at  her  side 

Shed  light,  like  a  son  on  the  waves 
And,  smiling  divinely,  she  cried — 

1 1  go  to  make  freemen  of  slaves.' 

Then  raising  her  voice  to  a  strain 
The  sweetest  that  ear  ever  heard, 

She  sung  of  the  slave's  broken  chain, 
Wherever  her  glory  appeared. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  369 

Some  clouds  which  had  over  us  hung, 

Fled,  chased  by  her  melody  clear, 
And  methought  while  she  liberty  sung, 

'Twas  liberty  only  to  hear. 

Thus  swiftly  dividing  the  flood, 

To  a  slave-cultured  island  we  came, 
Where  a  demon,  her  enemy,  stood — 

Oppression  his  terrible  name, 
In  his  hand,  as  the  sign  of  his  sway, 

A  scourge  hung  with  lashes  he  bore, 
And  stood  looking  out  for  his  prey 

From  Africa's  sorrowful  shore. 

But  soon  as  approaching  the  land 

That  goddess-like  woman  he  viewed, 
The  scourge  he  let  fall  from  his  hand, 

With  the  blood  of  his  subjects  imbrued. 
I  saw  him  both  sicken  and  die, 

And  the  moment  the  monster  expired, 
Heard  shouts  that  ascended  the  sky, 

From  thousands  with  rapture  inspired. 

Awaking  how  could  I  but  muse 

At  what  such  a  dream  should  betide  ? 
But  soon  my  ear  caught  the  glad  news, 

Which  served  my  weak  thought  for  a  guide-  - 
That  Britannia,  renowned  o'er  the  waves 

For  the  hatred  she  ever  has  shown, 
To  the  black-sceptered  rulers  of  slaves, 

Resolves  to  have  none  of  her  own. 


THE  NIGHTINGALE   AND   GLOW-WORM. 

A  NIGHTINGALE,  that  all  day  long     / 
Had  cheered  the  village  with  a  song,  y 
Nor  yet  at  eve  his  note  suspended, 
Nor  yet  when  eventide  was  ended,    q 


370  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

Began  to  feel,  as  well  he  might, 
The  keen  demands  of  appetite  ; 
When,  looking  eagerly  around, 
He  spied  far  off,  upon  the  ground, 
A  something  shining  in  the  dark, 
And  knew  the  glow-worm  by  his  spark ; 
So,  stooping  down  from  hawthorn  top, 
He  thought  to  put  him  in  his  crop. 
The  worm,  aware  of  his  intent, 
Harangued  him  thus,  right  eloquent : 
Did  you  admire  my  lamp,  quoth  he, 
As  much  I  your  minstrelsy, 
You  would  abhor  to  do  me  wrong, 
As  much  as  I  to  spoil  your  song ; 
For  'twas  the  self-same  power  divine 
Taught  you  to  sing,  and  me  to  shine  ; 
That  you  with  music,  I  with  light, 
Might  beautify  and  cheer  the  night. 
The  songster  heard  this  short  oration, 
And  warbling  out  his  approbation, 
Released  him,  as  my  story  tells, 
And  found  a  supper  somewhere  else  ! 
Hence  jarring  sectaries  may  learn 
Their  real  interest  to  discern  ; 
/    That  brother  should  not  war  with  brother, 
-  -And  worry  and  devour  each  other : 
but  sing  and  shine  by  sweet  consent, 
Till  life's  poor  transient  night  is  spent, 
Respecting  in  each  other's  case 
The  gifts  of  nature  and  of  grace. 

Those  Christians  best  deserve  the  name, 
Who  studiously  make  peace  their  aim ; 
Peace,  both  the  duty  and  the  prize 
Of  him  that  creeps  and  him  that  flies. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS,  371 

ON   A  GOLDFINCH, 

STARVED  TO  DEATH  IN  HIS  CAGE, 

TIME  was  when  I  was  free  as  air, 
The  thistle's  downy  seed  my  fare, 

My  drink  the  morning  dew ; 
I  perched  at  will  on  every  spray, 
My  form  genteel,  my  plumage  gay, 

My  strains  for  ever  new. 

But  gaudy  plumage,  sprightly  strain, 
And  form  genteel,  were  all  in  vain, 

And  of  a  transient  date ; 
For  caught,  and  caged,  and  starved  to  death, 
n  dying  sighs  my  Tittle  breath 

Soon  passed  the  wiry  grate. 

Thanks,  gentle  swain,  for  all  my  woes, 
And  thanks  for  this  effectual  close 

And  cure  of  every  ill ; 
More  cruelty  could  none  express ; 
And  I,  if  you  had  shown  me  less, 

Had  been  your  prisoner  still. 


THE  PINE-APPLE  AND  BEfl. 

THE  pine-apples,  in  triple  row> 
Were  basking  hot,  and  all  in  blow ; 
A  bee  of  most  discerning  taste, 
Perceived  the  fragrance  as  he  passed, 
On  eager  wing  the  spoiler  came, 
And  searched  for  crannies  in  the  frame, 
Urged  his  attempt  on  every  side, 
To  every  pane  his  trunk  applied  ; 
But  still  in  vain  the  frame  was  tight, 
And  only  pervious  to  the  light ; 


372  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

Thus  having  wasted  half  the  day, 
He  trimmed  his  flight  another  way. 

Methinks,  I  said,  in  thee  I  find 
The  sin  and  madness  of  mankind. 
To  joys  forbidden  man  aspires, 
Consumes  his  soul  with  vain  desires , 
Folly  the  spring  of  his  pursuit, 
And  disappointment  all  the  fruit. 
While  Cynthio  ogles,  as  she  passes, 
The  nymph  between  two  chariot  glasses, 
She  is  the  pine-apple,  and  he 
The  silly  unsuccessful  bee. 
The  maid,  who  views  with  pensive  air 
The  show-glass  fraught  with  glittering  wars, 
Sees  watches,  bracelets,  rings,  and  lockets, 
But  sighs  at  thought  of  empty  pockets  ; 
Like  thine,  her  appetite  is  keen, 
But  ah,  the  cruel  glass  between  ! 
Our  dear  delights  are  often  such, 
Exposed  to  view,  but  not  to  touch ; 
The  sight  our  foolish  heart  inflames, 
We  long  for  pine-apples  in  frames  ; 
With  hopeless  wish  one  looks  and  lingers; 
One  breaks  the  glass  and  cuts  his  fingers : 
But  they  whom  truth  and  wisdom  lead, 
Can  gather  honey  from  a  weed. 


HORACE.    BOOK  II.  ODE  X. 

RECEIVE,  dear  friend,  the  truths  I  teach, 
So  shalt  thou  live  beyond  the  reach 

Of  adverse  Fortune's  power 
Not  always  tempt  the  distant  deep, 
Nor  always  timorously  creep 

Along  the  treacherous  shore. 

He  that  holds  fast  the  golden  mean, 
And  lives  contentH.lv  between 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  373 

The  little  and  the  great, 
Feels  not  the  wants  that  pinch  the  poor, 
Nor  plagues  that  haunt  the  rich  man's  door 

Imbittering  all  his  state. 

The  tallest  pines  feel  most  the  power 
Of  winter  blasts  ;  the  loftiest  tower 

Comes  heaviest  to  the  ground  ; 
The  bolts,  that  spare  the  mountain's  side, 
His  cloud-capt  eminence  divide, 

And  spread  the  ruin  round. 

The  well-informed  philosopher 
Rejoices  with  a  wholesome  fear, 

And  hopes,  in  spite  of  pain  ; 
If  Winter  bellow  from  the  north, 
Soon  the  sweet  Spring  comes  dancing  forth. 

And  Nature  laughs  again. 

What  if  thine  heaven  be  overcast, 
The  dark  appearance  will  not  last ; 

Expect  a  brighter  sky. 
The  God  that  strings  the  silver  bow, 
Awakes  sometimes  the  muses  too, 

And  lays  his  arrows  by. 

If  hindrances  obstruct  thy  way, 
Thy  magnanimity  display, 

And  let  thy  strength  be  seen ; 
But  O  !  if  fortune  fill  thy  sail 
With  more  than  a  propitious  gale, 

Take  half  thy  canvass  in. 


REFLECTION  ON  THE  FOREGOING  ODE. 

AND  this  is  all  ?     Can  Reason  do  no  more, 
Than  bid  me  shun  the  deep,  and  dread  the  shore  ? 
Sweet  moralist !  afloat  on  life's  rough  sea, 
The  Christian  has  an  art  unknown  to  thee. 
32 


374  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

He  holds  no  parley  with  unmanly  fears ; 
Where  duty  bids,  he  confidently  steers, 
Faces  a  thousand  dangers  at  her  call, 
And,  trusting  in  his  God,  surmounts  them  all. 


THE    LILY    AND    THE    ROSE. 

THE  nymph  must  lose  her  female  friend, 

If  more  admired  than  she — 
But  where  will  fierce  contention  end, 

If  flowers  can  disagree  ? 

Within  the  garden's  peaceful  scene 

Appeared  two  lovely  foes 
Aspiring  to  the  rank  of  queen 

The  Lily  and  the  Rose. 

Vhe  Rose  soon  reddened  into  rage, 

And,  swelling  with  disdain, 
Appealed  to  many  a  poet's  page 

To  prove  her  right  to  reign. 

The  Lily's  height  bespoke  command, 

A  fair  imperial  flower  ; 
She  seemed  designed  for  Flora's  hand, 

The  sceptre  of  her  power. 

This  civil  bickering  and  debate 
The  goddess  chanced  to  hear, 

And  flew  to  save,  ere  yet  too  late, 
The  pride  of  the  parterre. 

Yours  is,  she  said,  the  nobler  hue, 
And  yours  the  statelier  mien ; 

And,  till  a  third  surpasses  you, 
Let  each  be  deemed  a  queen. 

Thus,  soothed  and  reconciled,  each  seeks 

The  fairest  British  fair : 
The  seat  of  empire  is  her  cheeks, 

They  reign  united  there. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


IDEM   LATINE    REDDITUM 

HEU  inimieitias  quoties  parit  aemula  forma, 
Quam  raro  pulchrae  pulchra  placere  potest 

Sed  fines  ultra  solitos  discordia  tendit, 
Cum  flores  ipsos  bilis  et  ira  movent. 

Hortus  ubi  dulces  prsebet  tacitosque  recessus 
Se  rapit  in  partes  gens  ariimosa  duas  ; 

Hie  sibi  regalis  Amaryllis  Candida  cultus, 
Illic  purpuero  vindicat  ore  Rosa. 

Ira  Rosam  et  meritis  quaesita  superbia  tangunt, 
Multaque  ferventi  vix  cohibenda  sinu, 

Dum  sibi  fautorum  ciet  undique  nomina  vatum 
Jusque  suum,  multo  carmine  fulta,  probat. 

Altior  emicat  ilia,  et  celso  vertice  nutat, 

Ceu  flores  inter  non  habitura  parem, 
Fastidique  alios,  et  nata  videtur  in  usus 

Imperil,  sceptrum,  Flora  quod  ipsa  gerat. 

Nee  Dea  non  sensit  civilis  murmura  rixae, 
Cui  curse  est  pictas  pandere  ruris  opes, 

Deliciasque  suas  nunquam  non  prompta  tueri, 
Dum  licet  et  locus  est,  ut  tueatur,  adest. 

Et  tibi  forma  datur  procerior  omnibus,  inquit ; 

Et  tibi,  principibus  qui  solet  esse,  color  ; 
Et  donee  vincat  quaedam  formosior  ambas. 

Et  tibi  reginae  nomen,  et  esto  tibi. 

His  ubi  sedatus  furor  est,  petit  utraque  nympham, 
Qualem  inter  Veneres  Anglia  sola  parit.; 

Hancpenes  imperium  est,  nihil  optant  amplius,  hujui 
Regnant  in  nitidis,  et  sine  lite,  genis. 


376  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


THE    POPLAR    FIELD. 

THE  poplars  are  felled,  farewell  to  the  shade 
And  the  whispering  sound  of  the  cool  colonnade  ; 
The  winds  play  no  longer  and  sing  in  the  leaves, 
Nor  Ouse  on  his  bosom  their  image  receives. 

Twelve  years  have  elapsed,  since  I  last  took  a  view 
Of  my  favourite   field,   and  the   bank  where  they 

grew ; 

And  now  in  the  grass  behold  they  are  laid, 
And  the  tree  is  my  seat,  that  once  lent  me  a  shade. 

The  blackbird  has  fled  to  another  retreat, 
Where  the  hazels  aiford  him  a  screen  from  the  heat, 
And  the  scene  where  his  melody  charmed  me  before, 
Resounds  with  his  sweet-flowing  ditty  no  more. 

My  fugitive  years  are  all  hasting  away, 

And  I  must  ere  long  lie  as  lowly  as  they. 

With  a  turf  on  my  breast,  and  a  stone  at  my  head, 

Ere  another  such  grove  shall  arise  in  its  stead. 

'Tis  a  sight  to  engage  me,  if  any  thing  can, 
To  muse  on  the  perishing  pleasures  of  man  : 
Though  his  life  be  a  dream,  his  enjoyments,  I  see, 
Have  a  being  less  durable  even  than  he.* 


IDEM    LATINE    REDDITUM. 

POPUL^E  cecidet  gratissima  copia  silvas, 
Conticuere  susurri,  omnisque  evanuit  umbra. 
Nulle  jam  levibus  se  miscent  frondibus  auras, 
Et  nulla  in  fluvio  ramorum  ludit  imago. 

*  Mr.  Cowper  afterwards  altered  this  stanza  in  the  following  man* 
ner  : 

The  change  both  my  heart  and  my  fancy  employs, 
I  reflect  on  the  frailty  of  man  and  his  joys; 
Short-lived  as  we  are,  yet  our  pleasures  we  see, 
Have  a  still  shorter  date,  and  die  sooner  than  we. 


MISCELLANEOUS    1*OEMS.  3 

Hei  mihi !  bis  senos  dum  luctu  torqueor  annos, 
His  cogor  silvis  suetoque  carrere  recessu, 
Cum  sero  rediens,  stratasque  in  gramine  ceinens^ 
Insedi  arboribus,  sub  queis  errare  solebam. 

Ah  ubi  nunc  merulae  cantus  ?     Felicior  ilium 
Silva  tegit,  durae  nondurn  permissa  bipenni ; 
Scilicet  exustos  colles  camposque  patentes 
Odit,  et  indignans  et  non  rediturus  abivit. 

Sed  qui  succisas  doleo  succidar  et  ipse, 
Et  prius  huic  parilis  quam  creverit  altera  silva 
Flebor,  et,  exquiis  parvis  donatus,  habebo 
Defixum  lapidum  tumulique  cubantis  acervum. 

Tarn  subito  periisse  videns  tarn  digna  manere, 
Agnosco  human  as  sortes  et  tristia  fata — 
Sit  licit  ipse  brevis,  volucrique  simillimus  umbra, 
Est  homini  brevior  citiusque  obitura  voluptas. 


VOTUM. 

O  MATUTINI  rores  auraeque  salubres, 
O  nemora,  et  laetae  rivis  felicibus  herbae, 
Graminei  colles,  et  amoenae  in  vallibus  umbras ! 
Pata  modo  dederint  quas  olim  in  rure  paterno 
Delicias,  procul  arte,  formidine  novi. 
Quam  vellem  ignotus,  quod  mens  mea  semper  avebat, 
Ante  larem  proprium  placidam  expectare,  senectatn. 
Turn  demum,  exactis  non  infeliciter  annis, 
Sortiri  taciturn  lapidem,  aut  sut)  cespite  condi. 


TRANSLATION    OF 

PRIOR'S    CHLOE    AND    EUPHELIA. 

MERCATOR,  vigiles  oculos  ut  fallere  possit, 
Nomine  sub  ficto  trans  mare  mittit  opes  ; 

Lene  sonat  liquidumque  meis  Euphelia  chordis 
Sed  sol  am  exoptant4e,  mea  vota,  Chloe. 
'32* 


378  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

Ad  speculum  ornabat  nitidos  Euphelia  crines, 
Cam  dixit  mea  lux,  Heus,  cane,  sume  lyram, 

Namque  lyram  juxta  positam  cum  carmine  vidit, 
Suave  quidem  carmen  dulcisonamque  lyram. 

Fila  lyrae  vocemque  paro  suspiria  surgunt, 
Et  miscent  numeris  murmura  moesta  meis, 

Dumque  tuae  memora  laudes,  Euphelia  formae, 
Tota  anima  interia  pendet  ab  ore  Chloes. 

Subrubet  ilia  pudore,  et  contrahit  altera  frontem, 
Me  torquet  mea  mens  conscia,  psallo,  tremo ; 

Afcque  Cupidinea  dixit  Dea  cincta  corona, 
Heu  !  fallendi  artem  quam  didicere  parum. 


THE     DIVERTING 

HISTORY    OF    JOHN   GILPIN. 

Showing  how  he  went  farther  than  he  intended,  and  came  safe  home  again. 

JOHN  GILPIN  was  a  citizen 

Of  credit  and  renown, 
A  train-band  captain  eke  was  he 

Of  famous  London  town. 

John  Gilpin's  spouse  said  to  her  dear, 

Though  wedded  we  have  been 
These  twice  ten  tedious  years,  yet  we 

No  holiday  have  seen. 

To-morrow  is  our  wedding  day 

And  we  will  then  repair 
Unto  the  Bell  at  Edmonton 

All  in  a  chaise  and  pair. 

My  sister,  and  my  sister's  child, 

Myself,  and  children  three, 
Will  fill  the  chaise ;  so  you  must  ride 

On  horseback  after  we. 

r  He  i*oon  replied,  I  do  admire 
Of  womankind  but  one 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  879 

And  you  are  she,  my  dearest  dear, 
Therefore  it  shall  be  done. 

I  am  a  linen-draper  bold, 

As  all  the  world  doth  know, 
And  my  good  friend  the  calender 

Will  lend  his  horse  to  go. 

Quoth  Mrs.  Gilpin,  That's  well  said  : 

And  for  that  wine  is  dear, 
We  will  be  furnished  with  our  own, 

Which  is  both  bright  and  clear. 

John  Gilpin  kissed  his  loving  wife ; 

Overjoyed  was  he  to  find, 
That,  though  on  pleasure  she  was  bent, 

She  had  a  frugal  mind. 

The  morning  came,  the  chaise  was  brought, 

But  yet  was  not  allowed 
To  drive  up  to  the  door,  lest  all 

Should  say  that  she  was  proud. 

So  three  doors  off  the  chaise  was  stayed, 

Where  they  did  all  get  in ; 
Six  precious  souls,  and  all  agog 

To  dash  through  thick  and  thin. 

Smack  went  the  whip,  round  went  the  wheels, 

Were  ever  folks  so  glad, 
The  stones  did  rattle  underneath, 

As  if  Cheapside  were  mad. 

« 

John  Gilpin  at  his  horse's  side 

Seized  fast  the  flowing  mane, 
And  up  he  got  in  haste  to  ride, 

But  soon  came  down  again  : 

For  saddle-tree  scarce  reached  had  he, 
His  journey  to  begin, 


880  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS 

W7hen,  turning  round  his  head,  he  saw 
Three  customers  come  in. 

So  down  he  came ;  for  loss  of  time, 
Although  it  grieved  him  sore  ; 

Yet  loss  of  pence,  full  well  he  knew, 
Yould  trouble  him  much  more. 

'Twas  long  before  the  customers 

Were  suited  to  their  mind, 
When  Betty  screaming  came  down  stairs, 

"  The  wine  is  left  behind  !" 

Good  lack !  quoth  he — yet  bring  it  me, 

My  leathern  belt  likewise, 
In  which  I  bear  my  trusty  sword, 

When  I  do  exercise. 

Now  mistress  Gilpin  (careful  soul !) 
Had  two  stone  bottles  found, 

To  hold  the  liquor  that  she  loved, 
And  keep  it  safe  and  sound. 

Each  bottle  had  a  curling  ear, 
Through  which  the  belt  he  drew, 

And  hung  a  bottle  on  each  side, 
To  make  his  balance  true. 

Then  over  all,  that  he  might  be 

Equipped  from  top  to  toe, 
His  long  red  cloak,  well  brushed  and  neat 

He  manfully  did  throw. 

Now  see  him  mounted  once  again 

Upon  his  nimble  steed, 
Full  slowly  pacing  o'er  the  stones, 

With  caution  and  good  heed. 

But  finding  soon  a  smoother  road 
Beneath  his  well-shod  feet. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEM».  381 

The  snorting  beast  began  to  trot. 
Which  galled  him  in  his  seat. 

So,  fair  and  softly,  John  he  cried, 

But  John  he  cried  in  vain ; 
That  trot  became  a  gallop  soon, 

In  spite  of  curb  or  rein. 

So  stooping  down,  as  needs  he  must, 

Who  cannot  sit  upright, 
He  grasped  the  mane  with  both  his  hands, 

And  eke  with  all  his  might. 

His  horse,  who  never  in  that  sort 

Had  handled  been  before, 
What  thing  upon  his  back  had  got, 

Did  wonder  more  and  more. 

Away  went  Gilpin,  neck  or  naught, 

Away  went  hat  and  wig ; 
He  little  dreamt,  when  he  sat  out, 

Of  running  such  a  rig. 

The  wind  did  blow,  the  cloak  did  fly, 

Like  streamers  long  and  gay, 
Till  loop  and  button  failing  both, 

At  last  it  flew  away. 

I    Then  might  all  people  well  discern 

The  bottles  he  had  slung ; 

A  bottle  swinging  at  each  side, 

As  hath  been  said  or  sung. 

The  dogs  did  bark,  the  children  screamed, 

Up  flew  the  windows  all  ; 
And  every  soul  cried  out,  Well  done  . 
*         As  loud  as  he  could  ball. 

Away  werit  Gilpin — who  but  he  ? 
His  fame  soon  spread  around, 


8S2  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

He  carries  weight !  he  rides  a  race  ! 
'Tis  for  a  thousand  pound  ! 

And  still,  as  fast  as  he  drew  near, 

'Twas  wonderful  to  view, 
How  in  a  trice  the  turnpike  men 

Their  gates  wide  open  threw. 

And  now,  as  he  went  bowing  down 

His  reeking  head  full  low, 
The  bottles  twain  behind  his  back 

Were  shattered  at  a  blow. 

Down  ran  the  wine  into  the  road, 

Most  piteous  to  be  seen, 
Which  made  his  horse's  flanks  to  smoke 

As  they  had  basted  been. 

But  still  he  seemed  to  carry  weight, 

With  leathern  girdle  braced  ; 
For  all  might  see  the  bottles'  necks 

Still  dangling  at  his  waist. 

Thus  all  through  merry  Islington 

These  gambols  he  did  play 
Until  he  came  into  the  Wash 

Of  Edmonton  so  gay ; 

(And  there  he  threw  the  wash  about 

On  both  sides  of  the  way, 
Just  like  unto  a  trundling  mop, 
t    Or  a  wild  goose  at  play. 

At  Edmonton  his  loving  wife 

From  the  balcony  spied 
Her  tender  husband,  wondering  much 

To  see  how  he  did  ride. 

Stop,  stop,  John  Gilpin  ! — Here's  the  house— 
They  dl  aloud  did  cry  : 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  283 

The  dinner  waits  and  we  are  tired ; 
Said  Gilpin — So  am  I ! 

But  yet  his  horse  was  not  a  whit 

Inclined  to  tarry  there  ; 
For  why  ? — his  owner  had  a  house 
11  ten  miles  off,  at  Ware. 


So  like  an  arrow  swift  he  flew, 

Shot  by  an  archer  strong  ; 
So  did  he  fly — which  brings  me  to 

The  middle  of  my  song. 

Away  went  Gilpin  out  of  breath, 

And  sore  against  his  will, 
Till  at  his  friend  the  calender's 

His  horse  at  last  stood  still. 

The  calendar,  amazed  to  see 

His  neighbour  in  such  trim, 
Laid  down  his  pipe,  flew  to  the  gate, 

And  thus  accosted  him : 

What  news  ?  what  news  ?  your  tidings  tell ; 

Tell  me  you  must  and  shall — 
Say  why  bareheaded  you  are  come, 

Or  why  you  come  at  all  ? 

Now  Gilpin  had  a  pleasant  wit, 

And  loved  a  timely  joke  ; 
And  thus  unto  the  calender 

In  merry  guise  he  spoke : 

[  came  because  your  horse  would  come ; 

And,  if  I  well  forebode, 
My  hat  and  wig  will  soon  be  here, 

They  are  upon  the  road. 

The  calender  right  glad  to  find 
His  friend  in  merry  pin, 


b4  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

Returned  him  not  a  single  word, 
But  to  the  house  went  in ; 

Whence  straight  he  came  with  hat  and  wig ; 

A  wig  that  flowed  behind, 
A.  hat  not  much  the  worse  for  wear, 

Each  comely  in  its  kind. 

•• 

He  held  them  up,  and  in  his  turn 

That  showed  his  ready  wit, 
My  head  is  twice  as  big  as  yours, 

They  therefore  needs  must  fit 

But  let  me  scrape  the  dirt  away, 

That  hangs  upon  your  face  ; 
And  stop  and  eat,  for  well  you  may 

Be  in  a  hungry  case. 

Said  John,  it  is  my  wedding  day, 

And  all  the  world  would  stare, 
If  wife  should  dine  at  Edmonton, 

And  I  should  dine  at  Ware. 

So  turning  to  his  horse  he  said, 

I  am  in  haste  to  dine ; 
?Twas  for  your  pleasure  you  came  here. 

You  shall  go  back  for  mine. 

Ah  luckless  speech,  and  bootless  boast  I 

For  which  he  paid  full  dear  ; 
For,  while  he  spoke,  a  braying  ass 

Did  sing  most  loud  and  clear ; 

Whereat  his  horse  did  snort,  as  he 

Had  heard  a  lion  roar, 
And  galloped  oif  with  all  his  might, 

As  he  had  done  before. 

Away  went  Gilpin,  and  away 
Went  Gilpin's  hat  and  wig 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

He  lost  them  sooner  than  at  first, 
For  why  ? — they  were  too  big. 

Now  mistress  Gilpin,  when  she  saw 

Her  husband  posting  down 
Into  the  country  far  away, 

She  pulled  out  half  a  crown ; 

Arid  thus  unto  the  youth  she  said, 

That  drove  them  to  the  Bell, 
This  shall  be  yours,  when  you  bring  back 

My  husband  safe  and  well. 

The  youth  did  ride  and  soon  did  meet 

John  coming  back  amain ; 
Whom  in  a  trice  he  tried  to  stop, 

By  catching  at  his  rein  ; 

But  not  performing  what  he  meant 
And  gladly  would  have  done, 

The  frighted  steed  he  frighted  more, 
And  made  him  faster  run. 

Away  went  Gilpin,  and  away 

Went  postboy  at  his  heels, 
The  postboy's  horse  right  glad  to  miss 

The  lumbering  of  the  wheels. 

Six  gentlemen  upon  the  road, 

Thus  seeing  Gilpin  fly, 
With  postboy  scampering  in  the  rear, 

They  raised  the  hue  and  cry, — 

Stop  thief!  stop  thief!  a  highwayman ! 

Not  one  of  them  was  mute  ; 
And  all  and  each  that  passed  that  way 

Did  join  in  the  pursuit. 

And  now  the  turnpike  gates  again 
Flew  open  in  short  space ; 


386  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

The  toll-men  thinking  as  before 
That  Gilpin  rode  a  race. 

And  so  he  did,  and  won  it  too, 

For  he  got  first  to  town ; 
Nor  stopped  till  where  he  had  got  up 

He  did  again  get  down. 

Now  let  us  sing,  long  live  the  king, 

And  Gilpin,  long  live  he ; 
And,  when  he  next  doth  ride  abroad. 

May  I  be  there  to  see ! 


AN    EPISTLE 

TO  AN 

AFFLICTED  PROTESTANT   LADY  IN   FRANCK 
Madam, 

A  STRANGER'S  purpose  in  these  lays 
Is  to  congratulate  and  not  to  praise. 
To  give  the  creature  the  Creator's  due 
Were  sin  in  me,  and  an  offence  to  you. 
From  man  to  man,  or  e'en  to  woman  paid, 
Praise  is  the  medium  of  a  knavish  trade, 
A  coin  by  craft  for  folly's  use  designed, 
Spurious,  and  only  current  with  the  blind. 
The  path  of  sorrow  and  that  path  alone, 
Leads  to  the  land  where  sorrow  is  unknown  ; 
No  traveller  ever  reached  that  blest  abode, 
Who  found  not  thorns  and  briers  in  his  road, 
The  world  may  dance  along  the  flowery  plain, 
Cheered  as  they  go  by  many  a  sprightly  strain, 
Where  Nature  has  her  mossy  velvet  spread, 
With  unshod  feet  they  yet  securely  tread, 
Admonished,  scorn  the  caution  and  the  friend, 
Bent  all  -on  pleasure,  heedless  of  its  end. 
But  he,  who  knew  what  human  hearts  would  prora, 
How  slow  to  learn  the  dictates  of  his  love, 
That,  hard  by  nature  and  of  stubborn  will, 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS  387 

A  life  of  ease  would  make  them  harder  still, 
In  pity  to  the  souls  his  grace  designed 
To  rescue  from  the  ruins  of  mankind, 
Called  for  a  cloud  to  darken  all  their  years, 
And  said,  "  Go,  spend  them  in  the  vale  of  tears  * 
O  balmy  gales  of  soul-reviving  air  ! 
O  salutary  streams  that  murmur  there  ! 
These  flowing  from  the  fount  of  grace  above, 
Those  breathed  from  lips  of  everlasting  love. 
The  flinty  soil  indeed  their  feet  annoys  ; 
Chill  blasts  of  trouble  nip  their  springing  joys ; 
An  envious  world  will  interpose  its  frown, 
To  mar  delights  superior  to  its  own  ; 
And  many  a  pang,  experienced  still  within, 
Reminds  them  of  their  hated  inmate,  Sin  : 
But  ills  of  every  shape  and  every  name, 
Transformed  to  blessings,  miss  their  cruel  aim ; 
And  every  moment's  calm  that  soothes  the  breast, 
Is  given  in  earnest  of  eternal  rest. 

Ah,  be  not  sad,  although  thy  lot  be  cast 
Far  from  the  flock,  and  in  a  boundless  waste ! 
No  shepherd's  tents  within  thy  view  appear, 
But  the  chief  Shepherd  even  there  is  near  ; 
Thy  tender  sorrows  and  thy  plaintive  strain 
Plow  in  a  foreign  land,  but  not  in  vain  ; 
Thy  tears  all  issue  from  a  source  divine, 
Ana  every  drop  bespeaks  a  Saviour  thine — 
So  once  in  Gideon's  fleece  the  dews  were  found 
And  drought  on  all  the  drooping  herb?  around. 


TO    THE 

REV.    W.    CAWTHORNE    UNWIN. 

UN  WIN,  I  should  but  ill  repay 

The  kindness  of  a  friend, 
Whose  worth  deserves  as  warm  a  lay, 

As  ever  friendship  penned, 


388  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

A  union  formed,  as  mine  with  thee, 

Not  rashly,  nor  in  sport, 
May  be  as  fervent  in  degree 

And  faithful  in  its  sort, 
And  may  as  rich  in  comfort  prove 
As  that  of  true  fraternal  love. 

The  bud  inserted  in  the  rind, 

The  bud  of  peach  or  rose, 
Adorns,  though  differing  in  its  kind, 

The  stock  whereon  it  grows, 
With  flower  as  sweet,  or  fruit  as  fair 
As  if  produced  by  nature  there. 

Not  rich,  I  render  what  I  may, 

I  seize  thy  name  in  haste, 
And  place  it  in  this  first  essay, 

Lest  this  should  prove  the  last. 
'Tis  where  it  should  be — in  a  plan, 
That  holds  in  view  the  good  of  man. 

The  poet's  lyre,  to  fix  his  fame, 

Should  be  the  poet's  heart ; 
Affection  lights  a  brighter  flame 

Than  ever  blazed  by  art. 
No  muses  on  these  lines  attend, 
I  sink  the  poei  ;n  the  friend. 

TO    THE    REVEREND    MR.    NEWTON 

An  Invitation  into  the  Country. 

THE  swallows  in  their  torpid  state 

Compose  their  useless  wing, 
And  bees  in  hives  as  idly  wait 

The  call  of  early  Spring. 

The  keenest  frost  that  binds  the  stream, 
The  wildest  wind  that  blows, 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS,  389 

Are  neither  felt  nor  feared  by  them, 
Secure  of  their  repose. 

But  man,  all  feeling  and  awake, 

The  gloomy  scene  surveys  ; 
With  present  ills  his  heart  must  ache, 

And  pant  for  brighter  days. 

Old  winter,  halting  o'er  the  mead, 

Bids  me  arid  Mary  mourn  : 
But  lovely  Spring  peeps  o'er  his  head, 

And  whispers  your  return. 

Then  April,  with  her  sister  May, 

Shall  chase  him  from  the  bowers, 
And  weave  fresh  garlands  every  day, 

To  crown  the  smiling  hours. 

And  if  a  tear  that  speaks  regret 

Of  happier  times,  appear, 
A.  glimpse  of  joy,  that  we  have  met, 

Shall  shine  and  dry  the  tear. 


CATHARINA. 

TO   MISS   STAPLETON,    (NOW   MRS.   COURTNAY  ) 

SHE  came — she  is  gone — we  have  met — 

And  meet  perhaps  never  again  ; 
The  sun  of  that  moment  is  set, 

And  seems  to  have  risen  in  vain. 
Catharina  has  fled  like  a  dream — 

(So  vanishes  pleasure,  alas  !) 
But  has  left  a  regret  and  esteem, 

That  will  not  so  suddenly  pass. 

The  last  evening  ramble  we  made, 

Catharina,  Maria,  and  I, 
Our  progress  was  often  delayed 

By  the  nightingale  warbling  nigh. 

33* 


390  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

We  paused  under  many  a  tree, 

And  much  she  was  charmed  with  a  tone 
Less  sweet  to  Maria  and  me, 

Who  so  lately  had  witnessed  her  own. 

My  numbers  that  day  she  had  sung, 

And  gave  them  a  grace  so  divine 
As  only  her  musical  tongue 

Could  infuse  into  numbers  of  mine. 
The  longer  I  heard,  I  esteemed 

The  work  of  my  fancy  the  more, 
And  e'en  to  myself  never  seemed 

So  tuneful  a  poet  before. 

Though  the  pleasures  of  London  exceed 

In  number  the  days  of  the  year, 
Catharina,  did  nothing  impede, 

Would  feel  herself  happier  here  ; 
For  the  close-woven  arches  of  limes 

On  the  banks  of  our  river,  I  know, 
Are  sweeter  to  her  many  times 

Than  aught  that  the  city  can  show. 

So  it  is,  when  the  mind  is  endued 

With  a  well-judging  taste  from  above ; 
Then,  whether  embellished  or  rude, 

'Tis  nature  alone  that  we  love. 
The  achievements  of  art  may  amuse, 

May  even  our  wonder  excite, 
But  groves,  hills,  and  valleys,  diffuse 

A  lasting,  a  sacred  delight. 

Since  then  in  the  rural  recess 

Catharina  alone  can  rejoice, 
May  it  still  be  her  lot  to  possess 

The  scene  of  her  sensible  choice  ! 
To  inhabit  a  mansion  remote 

From  the  clatter  of  street-pacing  steeds, 
And  by  Philomel's  annual  note 

To  measure  the  life  that  she  leads. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

With  her  book,  and  her  voice,  and  her  lyre, 

To  wing  all  her  moments  at  home  ; 
And  with  scenes  that  new  rapture  inspire, 

As  oft  as  it  suits  her  to  roam  ; 
She  will  have  just  tt  e  life  she  prefers, 

With  little  to  hope  or  to  fear, 
And  ours  would  be  pleasant  as  hers, 

Might  we  view  her  enjoying  it  here. 


THE    MORAL1ZER    CORRECTED. 

A   TALE. 

A  HERMIT,  (or  if  chance  you  hold 

That  title  now  too  trite  and  old) 

A  man,  once  young,  who  lived  retired, 

As  hermit  could  have  well  desired 

His  hours  of  study  closed  at  last. 

And  finished  his  concise  repast, 

Stoppled  his  cruise,  replaced  his  book 

Within  its  customary  nook, 

And,  staff  in  hand,  set  forth  to  share 

The  sober  cordial  of  sweet  air, 

Like  Isaac,  with  a  mind  applied 

To  serious  thought  at  evening  tide. 

Autumnal  rains  had  made  it  chill, 

And  from  the  trees,  that  fringed  his  hill, 

Shades  slanting  at  the  close  of  day 

Chilled  more  his  else  delightful  way. 

Distant  a  little  mile  he  spied 

A  western  bank's  still  sunny  side, 

And  right  toward  the  favoured  place 

Proceeding  with  his  nimblest  pace, 

In  hope  to  bask  a  little  yet, 

Just  reached  it  when  the  sun  was  set 

Your  hermit,  young  and  jovial  sirs  ! 
Learns  something  from  whatever  occurs— 
Arid  hence;  ne  said,  my  mind  computes 


&£  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

Tlie  real  worth  of  man's  pursuits. 
His  object  chosen  wealth  or  fame, 
Or  other  sublunary  game, 
Imagination  to  his  view 
Presents  it  decked  with  every  hr,e 
That  can  seduce  him  not  to  spare 
His  powers  of  best  exertion  there, 
But  youth,  health,  vigour  to  expend 
On  so  desirable  an  end. 
Ere  long  approach  life's  evening  shades, 
The  glow  that  fancy  gave  it  fades ; 
And,  earned,  too  late,  it  wants  the  grace 
That  first  engaged  him  in  the  chase. 
True,  answered  an  angelic  guide, 
Attendant  at  the  senior's  side — 
But  whether  all  the  time  it  cost, 
To  urge  the  fruitless  chase  be  lost, 
Must  be  decided  by  the  worth 
Of  that,  which  called  his  ardour  forth. 
Trifles  pursued,  whate'er  th'  event, 
Must  cause  him  shame  or  discontent  : 
A  vicious  object  still  is  worse, 
Successful  there  he  wins  a  curse ; 
But  he,  who  e'en  in  life's  last  stage 
Endeavours  laudable  engage, 
Is  paid  at  least  in  peace  of  mind, 
And  sense  of  having  well  designed  ; 
And  if,  ere  he  attain  his  end, 
His  sun  precipitate  descend, 
A  brighter  prize  than  that  he  meant 
Shall  recompense  his  mere  intent. 
No  virtuous  wish  can  bear  a  date 
Either  too  early  or  too  late. 

THE  FAITHFUL  BIRD. 

THE  greenhouse  is  my  summer  seat ; 
My  shrubs  displaced  from  that  retreat 


Ml  SUKLLA  NEGUS    POEMS.  393 

Enjoyed  the  open  air  ; 
Two  goldfinches,  whose  sprightly  song 
Had  been  their  mutual  solace  long, 

Lived  happy  prisoners  there. 

They  sang,  as  blithe  as  finches  sing, 
That  flutter  loose  on  golden  wing, 

And  frolic  where  they  list ; 
Strangers  to  liberty,  'tis  true, 
But  that  delight  they  never  knew, 

And  therefore  never  missed. 

But  nature  works  in  every  breast, 
With  force  not  easily  suppressed ; 

And  Dick  felt  some  desires, 
That  after  many  an  effort  vain, 
Instructed  him  at  length  to  gain 

A  pass  between  his  wires. 

The  open  windows  seemed  t'  invite 
The  freeman  to  a  farewell  flight ; 

But  Tom  was  still  confined ; 
And  Dick,  although  his  way  was  clear, 
Was  much  too  generous  and  sincere, 

To  leave  his  friend  behind. 

So  settling  on  his  cage,  by  play, 

And  chirp,  and  kiss,  he  seemed  to  say, 

You  must  not  live  alone — 
Nor  would  he  quit  that  chosen  stand 
Till  I,  with  slow  and  cautious  hand. 

Returned  him  to  his  own. 

O  ye,  who  never  taste  the  joys 

Of  Friendship,  satisfied  with  noise, 

Fandango,  ball,  and  rout ! 
Blush,  when  I  tell  you  how  a  bird, 
A  prison  with  a  friend  preferred 

To  liberty  without. 


<|C.<1  MI  S  C  £  L  '..  A  A  F  <    Us    "  n  g  y  c. 

THE  NEEDLESS  ALARM, 

A   TALE. 

THERE  is  a  field  through  which  I  often  pass, 
Thick  overspread  with  moss  and  silky  grass, 
Adjoining  close  to  Kilwick's  echoing  wood, 
Where  oft  the  bitch-fox  hides  her  hapless  brood, 
Reserved  to  solace  many  a  neighbouring  squire, 
That  he  may  follow  them  through  break  and  brier, 
Contusion  hazarding  of  neck  or  spine 
Which  rural  gentlemen  call  sport  divine. 
A  narrow  brook,  by  rushy  banks  concealed, 
Runs  in  a  bottom,  and  divides  the  field  ; 
Oaks  intersperse  it,  that  had  once  a  head, 
But  now  wear  crests  of  oven-wood  instead  ; 
And  where  the  land  slopes  to  its  watery  bourn 
Wide  yawns  a  gulf  beside  a  ragged  thorn ; 
Bricks  line  the  sides,  but  shivered  long  ago 
And  horrid  brambles  intertwine  below ; 
A  hollow  scooped,  I  judge,  in  ancient  time, 
For  baking  earth,  or  burning  rock  to  lime. 

Not  yet  the  hawthorn  bore  her  berries  red, 
With  which  the  fieldfare,  wintry  guest,  is  fed  ; 
Nor  autumn  yet  had  brushed  from  every  spray 
With  her  chill  hand,  the  mellow  leaves  away  ; 
But  corn  was  housed,  and  beans  were  in  the  stack, 
Now  therefore  issued  forth  the  spotted  pack, 
With  tails  high  mounted,  ears  hung  low,  and  throats, 
With  a  whole  gamut  filled  of  heavenly  notes, 
For  which,  alas  !  my  destiny  severe. 
Though  ears  she  gave  me  two,  gave  me  no  ear. 

The  sun,  accomplishing  his  early  march, 
His  lamp  now  planted  on  Heaven's  topmost  arch, 
When,  exercise  and  air  my  only  aim, 
And  heedless  whither,  to  that  field  I  came, 
Ere  yet  with  ruthless  joy  the  happy  hound 
Told  hill  and  aale,  that  Renard's  track  was  found, 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS  31*5 

Or  with  the  high-raised  horn's  melodious  clang 
All  Killwick*  and  all  Dinglederry*  rang. 


Sheep  grazed  the  fiela!  some   with  soft  bosom 

pressed 

The  herb  as  soft,  while  nibbling  strayed  the  rest ; 
Nor  noise  was  heard,  but  of  the  hasty  brook, 
Struggling,  detained  in  many  a  petty  nook. 
All  seemed  so  peaceful,  that,  from  them  conveyed, 
To  me  their  peace  by  kind  contagion  spread. 
But  when  the  huntsman  with  distended  cheek, 
'Gan  make  his  instrument  of  music  speak, 
And  from  within  the  wood  that  crash  was  heard, 
Though  not  a  hound  from  whom  it  burst  appeared, 
The  sheep  recumbent,  and  the  sheep  that  grazed ; 
All  huddling  into  phalanx,  stood  and  gazed, 
Admiring,  terrified,  the  novel  strain, 
Then  coursed  the  field  around,  and  coursed  it  round 

again; 

But,  recollecting,  with  a  sudden  thought, 
That  flight  in  circles  urged,  advanced  them  naught 
They  gathered  close  round  the  old  pit's  brink, 
And  thought  again — but  knew  not  what  to  think. 

The  man  to  solitude  accustomed  long, 
Perceives  in  every  thing  that  lives  a  tongue  ; 
Not  animals  alone,  but  shrubs  and  trees 
Have  speech  for  him,  and  understood  with  ease ; 
After  long  draught,  when  rains  abundant  fall, 
He  hears  the  herbs  and  flowers  rejoicing  all ; 
Knows  what  the  freshness  of  their  hue  implies, 
How  glad  they  catch  the  largess  of  the  skies ; 
But,  with  precision  nicer  still,  the  mind 
He  scans  of  every  locomotive  kind  ; 
Birds  of  all  feather,  beasts  of  every  name, 
That  serve  mankind,  or  shun  them,  wild  or  tame ; 
The  looks  and  gestures  of  their  griefs  and  fears 
Have  all  articulation  in  his  ears ; 
He  spells  them  true  by  intuition's  light, 

*  Two  woods  belonging  to  John  Throckmorton,  fitq. 


39t>  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

And  needs  no  glossary  to  set  him  right. 

This  truth  premised  was  needful  as  a  text, 
To  win  due  credence  to  what  follows  next. 

Awhile  they  mused ;  surveying  every  face, 
Thou  hadst  supposed  them  of  superior  race  : 
Their  periwigs  of  wool,  and  fears  combined, 
Stamped  on  each  countenance  such  marks  of  mind, 
That  sage  they  seemed,  as  lawyers  o'er  a  doubt, 
Which,  puzzling  long,  at  last  they  puzzle  out ; 
Or  academic  tutors,  teaching  youth, 
Sure  ne'er  to  want  them,  mathematic  truths ; 
When  thus  a  mutton,  statelier  than  the  rest, 
A  ram,  the  ewes  and  wethers  sad  addressed — 

Friends  !  we  have  lived  too  long.     I  never  heard 
Sounds  such  as  these,  so  worthy  to  be  feared 
Could  I  believe,  that  winds  for  ages  pent 
In  earth's  dark  womb  have  found  at  last  a  vent. 
And  from  their  prison-house  below  arise, 
With  all  these  hideous  bowlings  to  the  skies, 
I  could  be  much  composed,  nor  should  appear, 
For  such  a  cause,  to  feel  the  slightest  fear. 
Yourselves  have  seen,  what  time  the  thunders  rolled, 
All  night,  me  resting  quiet  in  the  fold. 
Or  heard  we  that  tremendous  bray  alone, 
I  could  expound  the  melancholy  tone  ; 
Should  deem  it  by  our  old  companion  made, 
The  ass  ;  for  he,  we  know,  has  lately  strayed, 
And  being  lost,  perhaps,  and  wandering  wide 
Might  be  supposed  to  clamour  for  a  guide. 
But  ah  !  those  dreaded  yells  what  soul  can  hear 
That  owns  a  carcase,  and  not  quake  for  fear? 
Damons  produce  them  doubtless  ;  brazen-clawed 
And  fanged  with  brass  the  demons  are  abroad  ; 
I  hold  it  therefore  wisest  and  most  fit, 
That,  life  to  save,  we  leap  into  the  pit. 

Him  answered  then  his  loving  mate  and  true 
But  more  discreet  than  he,  a  Cambrian  ewe. 

How  '  leap  into  th*  pit  our  life  to  save  ? 


A  EOCS    POEMS.  337 

Tc  save  our  life  leap  all  into  the  grave  ? 

For  can  we  find  it  less  ?  Contemplate  first 

The  depth,  how  awful  !  falling  there,  we  burst ; 

Or  should  the  brambles,  interposed,  our  fall 

In  part  abate,  that  happiness  were  small ; 

For  with  a  race  like  theirs  no  chance  I  see 

Of  peace  or  ease  to  creatures  clad  as  we. 

Mean-time,  noise  kills  not.     Be  it  Dapple's  bray, 

Or  be  it  not,  or  be  it  whose  it  may, 

And  rush  those  other  sounds,  that  seem  by  tongua/ 

Of  demons  uttered,  from  whatever  lungs, 

Sounds  are  but  sounds  ;  and,  till  the  cause  appear, 

We  have  at  least  commodious  standing  here. 

Come  fiend,  come  fury,  giant,  monster,  blast 

From  earth  or  hell,  we  can  but  plunge  at  last. 

While  thus  she  spake,  I  fainter  heard  the  peals, 
For  Reynard,  close  attended  at  his  heels 
By  panting  dog,  tired  man,  and  spattered  horse, 
Through  mere  good  fortune  took  a  different  course. 
The  flock  grew  calm  again ;  and  I,  the  road 
Following,  that  led  me  to  my  own  abode, 
Much  wondered  that  the  silly  sheep  had  found 
Such  cause  of  terror  in  an  empty  sound. 
So  sweet  to  huntsman,  gentleman,  and  hound. 

MORAL. 

Beware  of  desperate  steps.     The  darkest  day, 
Live  till  to-morrow,  will  have  passed  away. 


B  O  A  D  I  C  E  A. 

AN    ODE. 

WHEN  the  British  warrior  queen, 
Bleeding  from  the  Roman  rods, 

Sought,  with  an  indignant  mien, 
Counsel  of  her  country's  gods  ; 


M  i  SO  F.LLA.N  K  O  i:  S    POEMS. 

Sage  oerifcatn  the  spreading  oaK 
Sat  the  Druid,  hoary  chief; 

Every  burning  word  he  spoke 
Full  of  rage,  and  full  of  grief. 

Princess  !  if  our  aged  eyes 

Weep  upon  thy  matchless  wrongs, 
'Tis  because  resentment  ties 

All  the  terrors  of  our  tongues. 

Rome  shall  perish — write  that  word 
In  the  blood  that  she  has  spilt ; 

Perish,  hopeless  and  abhorred, 
Deep  in  ruin  as  in  guilt. 

Rome,  for  empire  far  renowned, 
Tramples  on  a  thousand  states, 

Soon  her  pride  shall  kiss  the  ground — 
Hark  !  the  Gaul  is  at  her  gates 

Other  Romans  shall  arise, 

Heedless  of  a  soldier's  name  ; 

Sounds,  not  arms,  shall  win  the  prize, 
Harmony  the  path  to  fame. 

Then  the  progeny  that  springs 
From  the  forests  of  our  land, 

Armed  with  thunder,  clad  with  wings 
Shall  a  wider  world  command. 

Regions  Caesar  never  knew 

Thy  posterity  shall  sway ; 
Where  his  eagles  never  flew, 

None  invincible  as  they. 

Such  the  bard's  prophetic  words, 
Pregnant  with  celestial  fire, 

Bending  as  he  swept  the  chords 
Of  his  sweet  but  awful  lyre. 

She  with  all  a  monarch's  pride, 
Fel*  them  in  her  bosom  glow : 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

Rusned  to  battle,  fought  and  died  , 
Dying  hurled  them  at  the  foe. 

Ruffians,  pitiless  as  proud, 

Heaven  awards  the  vengeance  due ; 
Empire  is  on  us  bestowed, 

Shame  and  ruin  wait  for  you. 


HEROISM. 

THERE  was  a  time  Avhen  ^Etna's  silent  fire 
Slept  unperceived,  the  mountain  yet  entire  : 
When,  conscious  of  no  danger  from  below, 
She  towered  a  cloud-capt  pyramid  of  snow. 
No  thunders  shook  with  deep  intestine  sound 
The  blooming  groves  that  girdled  her  around. 
Her  unctuous  olives,  and  her  purple  vines 
(Unfelt  the  fury  of  those  bursting  mines) 
The  peasant's  hopes,  and  not  in  vain,  assured. 
In  peace  upon  her  sloping  sides  matured. 
When  on  a  day,  like  that  of  the  last  doom, 
A  conflagration  labouring  in  her  womb, 
She  teemed  and  heaved  with  an  infernal  birth, 
That  shook  the  circling  seas  and  solid  earth. 
Dark  and  voluminous  the  vapours  rise 
And  hang  their  horrors  in  the  neighboring  skies, 
While  through  the  Stygian  veil,  that  blots  the  day, 
In  dazzling  streaks  the  vivid  lightnings  play. 
But  oh  !  what  muse,  and  in  what  powers  of  song, 
Can  trace  the  torrent  as  it  burns  along ; 
Havoc  and  devastation  in  the  van, 
It  marches  o'er  the  prostrate  works  of  man  ; 
Vines,  olives,  herbage,  forests  disappear, 
And  all  the  charms  of  a  Sicilian  year. 

Revolving  seasons,  fruitless  as  they  pass, 
See  it  an  uninformed  and  idle  mass  ; 
Without  a  soil  t'  invite  the  tiller's  care, 
Or  blade,  that  might  redeem  it  from  despair. 


400  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

Yet  time  at  length  (what  will  not  time  achieve  ?) 

Clothes  it  with  earth,  and  bids  the  produce  live. 

Once  more  the  spiry  myrtle  crowns  the  glade, 

And  ruminating  flocks  enjoy  the  shade. 

O  bliss  precarious,  and  unsafe  retreats, 

O  charming  Paradise  of  short-lived  sweets ! 

The  selfsame  gale,  that  wafts  the  fragrance  round, 

Brings  to  the  distant  ear  a  sullen  sound : 

Again  the  mountain  feels  th'  imprisoned  foe, 

Again  pours  ruin  on  the  vale  below. 

Ten  thousand  swains  the  wasted  scene  deplore, 

That  only  future  ages  can  restore. 

Ye  monarchs  whom  the  lure  of  honour  draws, 
Who  write  in  blood  the  merits  of  your  cause, 
Who  strike  the  blow,  then  plead  your  own  defence, 
Glory  your  aim,  but  justice  your  pretence ; 
Behold  in  ^Etna's  emblematic  fires, 
The  mischiefs  your  ambitious  pride  inspires  ! 
Fast  by  the  stream,  that  bounds  your  just  domain, 
And  tells  you  where  you  have  a  right  to  reign, 
A  nation  dwells,  not  envious  of  your  throne, 
Studious  of  peace,  their  neighbours1,  and  their  own 
Ill-fated  race  !  how  deeply  must  they  rue 
Their  only  crime,  vicinity  to  you  ! 
The  trumpet  sounds,  your  legions  swarm  abroad, 
Through  the  ripe  harvest  lies  their  destined  road ; 
At  every  step  beneath  their  feet  they  tread 
The  life  of  multitudes,  a  nation's  bread  ! 
Earth  seems  a  garden  in  its  loveliest  dress 
Before  them,  and  behind  a  wilderness. 
Famine,  and  Pestilence,  her  first-born  son, 
Attend  to  finish  what  the  sword  begun  : 
And  echoing  praises,  such  as  fiends  might  earn, 
And  Folly  pays,  resounds  at  your  return. 
A  calm  succeeds— but  Plenty,  with  her  train 
Of  heart-felt  joys,  succeeds  not  soon  again, 
And  years  of  pining  indigence  must  show 
What  scourges  are  the  gods  that  rule  below. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  401 

Yet  man,  laborious  man,  by  slow  degrees, 
(Such  is  his  thirst  of  opulence  and  ease) 
Plies  all  the  sinews  of  industrious  toil, 
Gleans  up  the  refuse  of  the  general  spoil, 
Rebuilds  the  towers,  that  smoked  upon  the  plain, 
And  the  sun  gilds  the  shining  spires  again. 

Increasing  commerce  and  reviving  art 
Renew  the  quarrel  on  the  conqueror's  part ; 
And  the  sad  lesson  must  be  learned  once  more, 
That  wealth  within  is  ruin  at  the  door. 
What  are  ye,  monarchs,  laureled  heroes,  say, 
But  .ZEtnas  of  the  suffering  world  ye  sway  ? 
Sweet  Nature,  stripped  of  her  embroidered  robe, 
Deplores  the  wasted  regions  of  her  globe ; 
And  stands  a  witness  at  Truth's  awful  bar, 
To  prove  you  there  destroyers  as  ye  are. 

O  place  me  in  some  Heaven-protected  isle, 
Where  Peace,  and  Equity,  and  Freedom  smile ; 
Where  no  volcano  pours  his  fiery  flood, 
No  crested  warrior  dips  his  plume  in  blood  ; 
Wnere  Power  secures  what  industry  has  won ; 
Where  to  succeed  is  not  to  be  undone ; 
A  land,  that  distant  tyrants  hate  in  vain, 
In  Britain's  isle,  beneath  a  George's  reign ! 


ON  THE  RECEIPT  OF  MY  MOTHER'S  PICTURE 

OUT  OF  NORFOLK. 
The  Gift  of  my  Cousin  Anne  Bodham. 

O  THAT  those  lips  had  language  !     Life  has  passed 
With  me  but  roughly  since  I  heard  thee  last. 
Those  lips  are  thine — thy  own  sweet  smile  I  see, 
The  same,  that  oft  in  childhood  solaced  me  ; 
Voice  only  fails,  else  how  distinct  they  say 
"  Grieve  not,  my  child,  chase  all  thy  fears  away  P 
The  meek  intelligence  of  those  dear  eyes 
(Blest  be  the  art  that  can  immortalize, 


402  MISCELLANEOUS    POJEM«. 

The  art  that  baffles  Time's  tyrannic  claim 
To  quench  it)  here  shine  on  me  still  the  same. 
Faithful  remembrancer  of  one  so  dear, 

0  welcome  guest,  though  unexpected  here  ! 
Who  bidd'st  me  honour  with  an  artless  song, 
Affectionate,  a  mother  lost  so  long. 

1  will  obey,  not  willingly  alone, 

But  gladly,  as  the  precept  were  her  own  ; 
And,  while  that  face  renews  my  filial  grief, 
Fancy  shall  weave  a  charm  for  my  relief, 
Shall  steep  me  in  Elysian  revery, 
A  momentary  dream,  that  thou  art  she. 

My  Mother  !  when  I  learned  that  thou  wast  dead 
Say,  wast  thou  conscious  of  the  tears  I  shed  ? 
Hovered  thy  spirit  o'er  thy  sorrowing  son, 
Wretched-e'en  then,  life's  journey  just  begun  ? 
Perhaps  thou  gavest  me,  though  unfelt,  a  kiss ; 
Perhaps  a  tear,  if  souls  can  weep  in  bliss — 
Ah,  that  maternal  smile  !  it  answers — Yes. 
I  heard  the  bell  tolled  on  thy  burial  day, 
I  saw  the  hearse  that  bore  thee  slow  away, 
And,  turning  from  my  nursery  window,  drew 
A  long,  long  sigh,  and  wept  a  last  adieu  ! 
But  was  it  such  ? — It  was. — Where  thou  art  gone 
Adieus  and  farewells  are  a  sound  unknown. 
May  I  but  meet  thee  on  that  peaceful  shore, 
The  parting  word  shall  pass  my  lips  no  more  ! 
Thy  maidens  grieved  themselves  at  my  concern, 
Oft  gave  me  promise  of  thy  quick  return. 
What  ardently  I  wished,  I  long  believed, 
And  disappointed  still,  was  still  deceived. 
By  expectation  every  day  beguiled, 
Dupe  of  to-morrow  even  from  a  child. 
Thus  many  a  sad  to-morrow  came  and  went, 
Till,  all  my  stock  of  infant  sorrow  spent, 
T  l^arnorl  at  last  submission  to  mv  lot. 
Hut.  ifioiiQh  I  Vess  deplored  time,  ne'er  forgot. 

Where  once  we  dwelt  our  name  is  heard  no  more; 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  403 

Children  not  thine  have  trod  my  nursery  door; 

And  where  the  gardener  Robin,  day  by  day, 

Drew  me  to  school  along  the  public  way, 

Delighted  with  my  bauble  coach,  and  wrapped 

In  scarlet  mantle  warm,  and  velvet  cap, 

'Tis  now  become  a  history  little  known, 

That  once  we  called  the  pastoral  house  our  own. 

Short-lived  possession  !  but  the  record  fair 

That  memory  keeps  of  all  thy  kindness  there, 

Still  outlives  many  a  storm,  that  has  effaced 

A  thousand  other  themes  less  deeply  traced. 

Thy  nightly  visits  to  my  chamber  made, 

That  thou  might'st  know  me  safe  and  warmly  laid ; 

Thy  morning  bounties  ere  I  left  my  home, 

The  biscuit,  or  confectionary  plum  ; 

The  fragrant  waters  on  my  cheeks  bestowed 

By  thy  own  hand,  till  fresh  they  shone  and  glowed : 

All  this,  and  more  endearing  still  than  all, 

Thy  constant  flow  of  love,  that  knew  no  fall,  • 

Ne'er  roughened  by  those  cataracts  and  breaks 

That  humour  interposed  too  often  makes  ; 

All  this  still  legible  in  memory's  page, 

And  still  to  be  so  to  my  latest  age, 

Adds  joy  to  duty,  makes  me  glad  to-day 

Such  honours  to  thee  as  my  numbers  may ; 

Perhaps  a  frail  memorial  but  sincere, 

Not  scorned  in  Heaven  though  little  noticed  here. 

Could  Time,  his  flight  reversed,  restore  the  hours 
When,  playing  with  thy  vesture's  tissued  flowers, 
The  violet,  the  pink,  and  jessamine, 
I  pricked  them  into  paper  with  a  pin, 
(And  thou  wast  happier  than  myself  the  while, 
Wouldst  softly   speak,    and   stroke   my   head   ai 

smile) 

Could  those  few  pleasant  days  again  appear, 
Might  one  wish  bring  them,  would  I  wish  them  here? 
I  would  not  trust  my  heart — the  dear  delight 
Seem*  ^  to  be  desired,  perhaps  T  mijjht.-— 


*04  M f SCELL4N EOFS    POEMS. 

But  no — what  here  we  call  our  life  is  such, 
So  little  to  be  loved,  and  thou  so  much, 
That  I  should  ill  requite  thee  to  constrain 
Thy  unbound  spirit  into  bonds  again. 

Thou,  as  a  gallant  bark  from  Albion's  coast 
(That  storms  all  weathered  and  the  ocean  crossed) 
Shoots  into  port  at  some  well-havened  isle, 
Where  spices  breathe,  and  brighter  seasons  smile, 
There  sits  quiescent  on  the  floods,  that  show 
Her  beauteous  form  reflected  clear  below, 
While  airs  impregnated  with  incense  play 
Around  her,  fanning  light  her  streamers  gay ; 
So  thou,  with  sails  how  swift !  hast  reached  the  sr  ore, 
"  Where  tempests  never  beat  nor  billows  roar,"* 
And  thy  loved  consort  on  the  dangerous  tide 
Of  life  long  since  has  anchored  by  thy  side. 
But  me,  scarce  hoping  to  attain  that  rest, 
Always  from  port  withheld,  always  distressed — 
Me  howling  blasts  drive  devious,  tempest  tossed, 
Sails  ripped,  seams  opening  wide,  and  compass  lost, 
And  day  by  day  some  current's  thwarting  force 
Sets  me  more  distant  from  a  prosperous  course. 
Yet  O  the  thought,  that  thou  art  safe,  and  he 
That  thought  is  joy,  arrive  what  may  to  me. 
My  boast  is  not,  that  I  deduce  my  birth 
From  loins  enthroned,  and  rulers  of  the  earth ; 
But  higher  far  my  proud  pretensions  rise — 
The  son  of  parents  past  into  the  skies. 
And  now,  farewell — Time  unrevoked  has  run 
His  wonted  course,  yet  what  I  wished  is  done. 
By  Contemplation's  help,  not  sought  in  vain, 
I  seem  t'  have  lived  my  childhood  o'er  again  ; 
To  have  renewed  the  joys  that  once  were  mine, 
Without  the  sin  of  violating  thine ; 
And,  while  the  wings  of  fancy  still  are  free, 
And  I  can  view  this  mimic  show  of  thee, 
Time  has  but  half-succeeded  in  his  theft- 
Thyself  removed,  thy  power  to  sooth  me  left 

*  Garth. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  4Q5 


FRIENDSHIP. 

WHAT  virtue,  or  what  mental  grace, 
But  men  unqualified  and  base 

Will  boast  it  their  possession  ? 
Profusion  apes  their  noble  part 
Of  liberality  of  heart, 

And  dulness  of  discretion. 

If  every  polished  gem  we  find, 
Illuminating  heart  or  mind : 

Provoke  to  imitation  : 
No  wonder  friendship  does  the  same, 
That  jewel  of  the  purest  flame, 

Or  rather  constellation. 

No  knave  but  boldly  will  pretend 
The  requisites  that  form  a  friend, 

A  real  and  a  sound  one  ; 
Nor  any  fool,  he  would  deceive 
But  prove  as  ready  to  believe, 

And  dream  that  he  had  fojmd  one. 

Candid,  and  generous,  and  just, 
Boys  care  but  little  whom  they  trust, 

An  error  soon  corrected — 
For  who  but  learns  in  riper  years, 
That  man,  when  smoothest  he  appeals, 

Is  most  to  be  suspected  ? 

But  here  again,  a  danger  lies, 
Lest,  having  misapplied  our  eyes, 

And  taken  trash  for  treasure 
We  should  unwarily  conclude 
Friendship  a  false  ideal  good, 

A  mere  Utopian  pleasure. 

An  acquisition  rather  rare 
Is  yet  no  subject  of  despair ; 


406  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS 

Nor  is  it  wise  complaining, 
If  either  on  forbidden  ground, 
Or  where  it  was  not  to  be  found, 

We  sought  without  attaining. 

No  friendship  will  abide  the  test, 
That  stands  on  sordid  interest, 

Or  mean  self-love  erected ; 
Nor  such  as  may  awhile  subsist, 
Between  the  sot  and  sensualist, 

For  vicious  ends  connected. 

Who  seeks  a  friend  should  come  disposed 
T'  exhibit  in  full  bloom  disclosed 

The  graces  and  the  beauties 
That  from  the  character  he  seeks ; 
For  'tis  a  union,  that  bespeaks 

Reciprocated  duties. 

Mutual  attention  is  implied, 
And  equal  truth  on  either  side, 

And  constantly  supported ; 
*Tis  senseless  arrogance  t'  accuse 
Another  of  sinister  views, 
Our  own  as  much  distorted. 

But  will  sincerity  suffice  ? 
It  is  indeed  above  all  price, 

And  must  be  made  the  basis ; 
But  every  virtue  of  the  soul 
Must  constitute  the  charming  whole. 

All  shining  in  their  places. 

A  fretful  temper  will  divide 

The  closest  knot  that  may  be  tied, 

By  ceaseless  sharp  corrosion  ; 
A  temper  passionate  and  fierce 
May  suddenly  your  joys  disperse 

At  one  immense  explosion. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

In  vain  the  talkative  unite 

In  hopes  of  permanent  delight — 

The  secret  just  committed, 
Forgetting  its  important  weight 
They  drop  through  mere  desire  to  prate, 

And  by  themselves  outwitted. 

How  bright  soe'er  the  prospect  seems, 
All  thoughts  of  friendship  are  but  dreamy 

If  envy  chance  to  creep  in ; 
An  envious  man,  if  you  succeed, 
May  prove  a  dangerous  foe  indeed, 

But  not  a  friend  worth  keeping. 

As  envy  pines  at  good  possessed, 
So  jealousy  looks  forth  distressed 

On  good  that  seems  approaching ; 
And,  if  success  his  steps  attend, 
Discerns  a  rival  in  a  friend, 

And  hates  him  for  encroaching. 

Hence  authors  of  illustrious  name, 
Unless  belied  by  common  fame, 

Are  sadly  prone  to  quarrel, 
To  deem  the  wit  a  friend  displays 
A  tax  upon  their  own  just  praise, 

And  pluck  each  other's  laurel. 

A  man  renowned  for  repartee 
Will  seldom  scruple  to  make  free 

With  friendship's  finest  feeling, 
Will  thrust  a  dagger  at  your  breast, 
And  say  he  wounded  you  in  jest, 

By  way  of  balm  for  healing. 

Whoever  keeps  an  open  ear 
For  tattlers,  will  be  sure  to  hear 
The  trumpet  of  contention ; 


408  Ml  SUKL1,AJNEOUS    POEMS. 

Aspersion  is  the  babbler's  trade, 
To  listen  is  to  lend  him  aid, 
And  rush  into  dissension. 

A  friendship,  that  in  frequent  fits 
Of  controversial  rage  emits 

The  sparks  of  disputation, 
Like  hand  in  hand  insurance  plates, 
Most  unavoidably  creates 

The  thought  of  conflagration. 

Some  fickle  creatures  boast  a  soul 
True  as  a  needle  to  the  pole, 

Their  humour  yet  so  various — 
They  manifest  their  whole  life  through 
The  needle's  deviations  too, 

Their  love  is  so  precarious. 

The  great  and  small  but  rarely  meet 
On  terms  of  amity  complete ; 

Plebeians  must  surrender 
And  yield  so  much  to  noble  folk, 
It  is  combining  fire  with  smoke, 

Obscurity  with  splendour. 

Some  are  so  placid  and  serene 
(As  Irish  bogs  are  always  green) 

They  sleep  secure  from  waking, 
And  are  indeed  a  bog,  that  bears 
Your  unparticipated  cares 

Unmoved  and  without  quaking. 

Courtier  and  patriot  cannot  mix 
Their  heterogeneous  politics 

Without  an  effervescence, 
Like  that  of  salts  with  lemon  juice, 
Which  does  not  yet  like  that  produce 

A  friendly  coalescence. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  409 

Religion  should  extinguish  strife, 
And  make  a  calm  of  human  life ; 

But  friends  that  chance  to  differ 
On  points',  which  God  has  left  at  large, 
How  freely  will  they  meet  and  charge ! 

No  combatants  are  stiffer. 

To  prove  at  last  my  main  intent 
Needs  no  expense  of  argument, 

No  cutting  and  contriving — 
Seeking  a  real  friend  we  seem 
T'  adopt  the  chemist's  golden  dream, 

With  still  less  hope  of  thriving. 

Sometimes  the  fault  is  all  our  own, 
Some  blemish  in  due  time  made  known 

By  tresspass  or  omission ; 
Sometimes  occasion  brings  to  light 
Our  friend's  defect  long  hid  from  sight, 

And  even  from  suspicion. 

Then  judge  yourself  and  prove  your  man 
As  circumspectly  as  you  can, 

And,  having  made  election, 
Beware  no  negligence  of  yours, 
Such  as  a  friend  but  ill  endures, 

Enfeeble  his  affection. 

That  secrets  are  a  sacred  trust, 

That  friends  should  be  sincere  and  just, 

That  constancy  befits  them, 
Are  observations  on  the  case, 
That  savour  much  of  common-place, 

And  all  the  world  admits  them. 

But  'tis  not  timber,  lead,  and  stone, 
An  architect  requires  alone, 
To  finish  a  fine  building— 


410  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS, 

The  palace  were  but  half  complete, 
If  he  could  possibly  forget 
The  carving  and  the  gilding. 

The  man  that  hails  you  Tom  or  Jack, 
And  proves  by  thumps  upon  your  back 

How  he  esteems  your  merit, 
Is  such  a  friend,  that  one  had  need 
Be  very  much  his  friend  indeed, 

To  pardon  or  to  bear  it. 

A  similarity  of  mind, 

Or  something  not  to  be  defined, 

First  fixes  our  attention ; 
So  manners  decent  and  polite, 
The  same  we  practised  at  first  sight, 

Must  save  it  from  declension. 

Some  act  upon  this  prudent  plan, 
"  Say  little  and  hear  all  you  can  :n 

Safe  policy,  but  hateful — 
So  barren  sands  imbibe  the  shower, 
But  render  neither  fruit  nor  flower, 

Unpleasant  and  ungrateful. 

The  man  I  trust,  if  shy  to  me, 
Shall  find  me  as  reserved  as  he ; 

No  subterfuge  or  pleading 
Shall  win  my  confidence  again  ; 
I  will  by  no  means  entertain 

A  spy  on  my  proceeding. 

These  samples — for  alas  !  at  last 
These  are  but  samples,  and  a  taste 

Of  evils  yet  unmentioned — 
May  prove  the  task  a  task  indeed, 
In  which  'tis  much  if  he  succeed 

However  well-intentioned. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  i\\ 

Pursue  the  search,  and  you  will  find 
Good  sense  and  knowledge  of  mankind 

To  be  at  least  expedient, 
And,  after  summing  all  the  rest, 
Religion  ruling  in  the  breast 

A  principal  ingredient. 

The  noblest  friendship  ever  shown 
The  Saviour's  history  makes  known, 

Though  some  have  turned  and  turned  it; 
And  whether  being  crazed  or  blind, 
Or  seeking  with  a  biassed  mind, 

Have  not,  it  seems,  discerned  it. 

O  Friendship,  if  my  soul  forego 
Thy  dear  delights  while  here  below ; 

To  mortify  and  grieve  me, 
May  I  myself  at  last  appear 
Unworthy,  base,  and  insincere. 

Or  may  my  friend  deceive  me  ! 


ON  A  MISCHIEVOUS  BULL, 

WHICH   THE   OWNER   OP   HIM   SOLD   AT   THE  AUTHOR'S  INSTANCE. 

Go — Thou  art  all  unfit  to  share 

The  pleasures  of  this  place 
With  such  as  its  old  tenants  are, 

Creatures  of  gentler  race. 

The  squirrel  here  his  hoard  provides, 

Aware  of  wintry  storms, 
And  woodpeckers  explore  the  sides 

Of  rugged  oaks  for  worms. 

The  sheep  here  smothes  the  knotted  thorn 

With  frictions  of  her  fleece  ; 
And  here  I  wander  eve  and  morn, 

Like  her  a  friend  to  peace. 


412  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS 

Ah  ! — I  could  pity  the  exiled 
From  this  secure  retreat — 

I  would  not  lose  it  to  be  styled 
The  happiest  of  the  great. 

But  thou  canst  taste  no  calm  delight ; 

Thy  pleasure  is  to  show 
Thy  magnanimity  in  fight, 

Thy  prowess — therefore  go — 

I  care  not  whether  east  or  north, 
So  I  no  more  may  find  thee ; 

The  angry  muse  thus  sings  thee  forth, 
And  claps  the  gate  behind  thee 


ANNUS  MEMORABILIS,  1789. 

Written  in  Commemoration  of  his  Majesty's  happy  Recovery 

I  RANSACKED,  for  a  theme  of  song, 

Much  ancient  chronicle  and  long ; 

I  read  of  bright  embattled  fields, 

Of  trophied  helmets,  spears,  and  shields, 

Of  chiefs  whose  single  arm  could  boast 

Prowess  to  dissipate  a  host ; 

Through  tomes  of  fable  and  of  dream 

I  sought  an  eligible  theme, 

But  none  I  found,  or  found  them  shared 

Already  by  some  happier  bard. 

To  modern  times,  with  Truth  to  guide 
My  busy  search,  I  next  applied  ; 
Here  cities  won  and  fleets  dispersed, 
Urged  loud  a  claim  to  be  rehearsed, 
Deeds  of  unperishing  renown, 
Our  fathers'  triumphs  and  our  own. 

Thus,  as  the  bee,  from  bank  to  bower, 
Assiduous  sips  at  every  flower, 
But  rests  on  none,  till  that  be  found, 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  413 

Where  most  nectareous  sweets  abound. 
So  I  from  theme  to  theme  displayed 
In  many  a  page  historic  strayed, 
Siege  after  siege,  fight  after  fight, 
Contemplating  with  small  delight 
(For  feats  of  sanguinary  hue 
Not  always  glitter  in  my  view ;) 
Till  settling  on  the  current  year 
I  found  the  far-sought  treasure  near : 
A  theme  for  poetry  divine, 
A  theme  t'  ennoble  even  mine, 
In  memorable  eighty-nine. 

The  spring  of  eighty-nine  shall  be 
An  era  cherished  long  by  me, 
Which  joyful  I  will  oft  record, 
And  thankful  at  my  frugal  board 
For  then  the  clouds  of  eighty-eight, 
That  threatened  England's  trembling  state 
With  loss  of  what  she  least  could  spare 
Her  sovereign's  tutelary  care,  . 
One  breath  of  Heaven,  that  cried — Restore ! 
Chased,  never  to  assemble  more : 
And  for  the  richest  crown  on  earth, 
If  valued  by  its  wearer's  worth, 
The  symbol  of  a  righteous  reign 
Sat  fast  on  George's  brows  again. 

Then  peace  and  joy  again  possessed 
Our  Queen's  long-agitated  breast ; 
Such  joy  and  peace  as  can  be  known 
By  sufferers  like  herself  alone, 
Who  losing,  or  supposing  lost, 
The  good  on  earth  they  valued  most, 
For  that  dear  sorrow's  sake  forego 
All  hope  of  happiness  below, 
Then  suddenly  regain  the  prize, 
And  flash  thanksgivings  to  the  skies  ! 

O  Queen  of  Albion,  Queen  of  isles  ! 
Since  all  thy  tears  were  changed  to  smiles, 
35* 


414  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

The  eyes,  that  never  saw  thee,  shine 
With  joy  not  unaiiied  to  thine, 
Transports  not  chargeable  with  art 
Illume  the  land's  remotest  part, 
And  strangers  to  the  air  of  courts, 
Both  in  their  toils  and  at  their  sports, 
The  happiness  of  answered  prayers, 
That  gilds  thy  features,  show  in  theirs. 

If  they  who  on  thy  state  attend, 
Awe-struck  before  thy  presence  bend, 
'Tis  but  the  natural  effect 
Of  grandeur  that  ensures  respect ; 
But  she  is  something  more  than  Queen, 
Who  is  beloved  where  never  seen. 


HYMN, 

FOR  THE  USE  OP  THE  SUNDAY  SCHOOL  AT  OLNBY. 

HEAR,  Lord,  the  song  of  praise  and  prayer, 

In  Heaven  thy  dwelling  place, 
From  infants  made  the  public  care, 

And  taught  to  seek  thy  face. 

Thanks  for  thy  word,  and  for  thy  day 

And  grant  us,  we,  implore, 
Never  to  waste  in  sinful  play 

Thy  holy  sabbaths  more. 

Thanks  that  we  hear, — but  O  impart 

To  each  desires  sincere, 
That  we  may  listen  with  our  heart, 

And  learn  as  well  as  hear. 

For  if  vain  thoughts  the  minds  engage 

Of  older  far  then  we, 
What  hope,  that,  at  our  heedless  age, 

Our  minds  should  e'er  be  free  ? 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  410 

Much  hope,  if  thou  our  spirits  take 

Under  thy  gracious  sway, 
Who  canst  the  wisest  wiser  make, 

And  babes  as  wise  as  they. 

Wisdom  and  bliss  thy  word  bestows. 

A  sun  that  ne'er  declines, 
And  be  thy  mercies  showered  on  those 

Who  placed  us  where  it  shines. 


STANZAS 

Subjoined  to  the  Yearly  Bill  of  Mortality  of  the  Pariah  of  All-Saints,  Nartfr 
ampton,*  Anno  Domini,  1787. 

Pallida  Mora  tsquo  pulsut  pede  pauperum  totenuu, 
Regumque  turrcs.  Qor. 

Pale  Death  with  equal  foot  strikes  wide  the  door 
Of  royal  halls,  and  hovels  of  the  poor. 

0 

WHILE  thirteen  moons  saw  smoothly  run 

The  Nen's  barge-laden  wave, 
All  these,  life's  rambling  journey  done, 

Have  found  their  home,  the  grave. 

Was  man  (frail  always)  made  more  frail 

Than  in  foregoing  years  ? 
Did  famine  or  did  plague  prevail, 

That  so  much  death  appears  ? 

No ;  these  were  vigorous  as  their  sires, 

Nor  plague  nor  famine  came ; 
This  annual  tribute  Death  requires, 

And  never  waives  his  claim. 

Like  crowded  forest-trees  we  stand, 

And  some  are  marked  to  fall  ; 
The  axe  will  smite  at  God's  command, 

And  soon  shall  smite  us  all. 

Green  as  the  bay-tree,  ever  green, 
With  its  new  foliage  on, 

*  Composed  for  John  Coz,  parish  clerk  of  Northampton. 


41b  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

The  gay,  the  thoughtless,  have  I  seen, 
1  passed — and  they  were  gone. 

Read,  ye  that  run,  the  awful  truth, 

With  which  I  charge  my  page ; 
A  worm  is  in  the  bud  of  youth, 

And  at  the  root  of  age. 

No  present  health  can  health  ensure 

For  yet  an  hour  to  come ; 
No  medicine,  though  it  oft  can  cure 

Can  always  balk  the  tomb. 

And  O  !  that  humble  as  my  lot, 

And  scorned  as  in  my  strain, 
These  truths,  though  known,  too  much  forgot, 

I  may  not  teach  in  vain. 

So  prays  your  clerk  with  all  his  heart, 

And  ere  he  quits  the  pen, 
Begs  you  for  once  to  take  his  part, 

And  answer  all — Amen  ! 


ON  A  SIMILAR  OCCASION. 

FOR   THE  YEAR    1788. 

Quod  adest,  memento 
Componere  aqnus.     C&terajlumini» 
Rituferuntur.  Hor. 

Improve  the  present  hour,  for  all  beside 
Is  a  mere  feather  on  a  torrent's  tide. 

COULD  I,  from  heaven  inspired,  as  sure  presage 
To  whom  the  rising  year  shall  prove  his  last, 
As  I  can  number  in  my  punctual  page, 
And  item  down  the  victims  of  the  past  ; 


How  each  would  trembling  wait  the  mournful  s 
On  which  the  press  might  stamp  him  next  to  die  ; 
And,  reading  here  his  sentence,  how  replete 
With  anxious  meaning,  heavenward  turn  his  eye 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  437 

Time  then  would  seem  more  precious  than  the  joys 
In  which  he  sports  away  the  treasure  now  ; 
And  prayer  more  seasonable  than  the  noise 
Of  drunkards,  or  the  music-drawing  bow. 

Then  doubtless  many  a  trifler  on  the  brink 
Of  this  world's  hazardous  and  headlong  shore, 
Forced  to  a  pause,  would  feel  it  good  to  think, 
Told  that  his  setting  sun  must  rise  no  more. 

Ah  self-deceived  !  Could  I  prophetic  say 
Who  next  is  fated,  and  who  next  to  fall, 
The  rest  might  then  seem  privileged  to  play ; 
But,  naming  none,  the  Voice  now  speaks  to 


Observe  the  dappled  foresters,  how  light 
They  bound  and  airy  o'er  the  sunny  glade 
One  falls — the  rest,  wide-scattered  with  affright, 
Vanish  at  once  into  the  darkest  shade. 

Had  we  their  wisdom,  should  we,  often  warned. 
Still  need  repeated  warnings,  and  at  last, 
A  thousand  awful  admonitions  scorned, 
Die  self-accused  of  life  run  all  to  waste  ? 

Sad  waste !  for  which  no  after-thrift  atones, 
The  grave  admits  no  cure  for  guilt  or  sin  ; 
Dew-drops  may  deck  the  turf,  that  hides  the  bones, 
But  tears  of  godly  grief,  ne'er  flow  within. 

Learn  then,  ye  living  !  by  the  mouths  be  taught 
Of  all  these  sepulchres,  instructers  true, 
That,  soon  or  late,  death  also  is  your  lot. 
And  the  next  opening  grave  may  yawn  for  you. 


418  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

ON  A  SIMILAR  OCCASION. 

FOR   THE   YEAR    1789. 

—Placidaque  ibi  demum  morte  quievit.—Virg. 
There  calm  at  length  he  breathed  his  soul  away. 

"O  MOST  delightful  hour  by  man 

Experienced  here  below, 
The  hour  that  terminates  his  span, 

His  folly,  and  his  wo ! 

"  Worlds  should  not  bribe  me  back  to  tread 

Again  life's  dreary  waste, 
To  see  again  my  days  o'erspread 

With  all  the  gloomy  past. 

"  My  home  henceforth  is  in  the  skies, 

Earth,  seas,  and  sun  adieu  ! 
All  heaven  unfolded  to  mine  eyes, 

I  have  no  sight  for  you." 

So  spake  Aspasio,  firm  possessed 

Of  faith's  supporting  rod, 
Then  breathed  his  soul  into  its  rest, 

The  bosom  of  his  God. 

He  was  a  man  among  the  few 

Sincere  on  virtue's  side  ; 
And  all  his  strength  from  Scripture  drew 

To  hourly  use  applied. 

That  rule  he  prized,  by  that  he  feared, 

He  hated,  hoped,  and  loved ; 
Nor  ever  frowned,  or  sad  appeared, 

But  when  his  heart  had  roved. 

For  he  was  frail  as  thou  or  I, 

And  evil  felt  within  : 
But,  when  he  felt  it,  heaved  a  sigh. 

And  loathed  the  thought  of  sin 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  419 

Such  lived  Aspasio ;  and  at  last 

Called  up  from  earth  to  heaven, 
The  gulf  of  death  triumphant  passed, 

By  gales  of  blessing  driven. 

His  joys  be  mine,  each  reader  cries, 

When  my  last  hour  arrives  : 
They  shall  be  yours,  my  verse  replies, 

Such  only  be  your  lives. 


ON  A  SIMILAR  OCCASION. 

FOR   THE   YEAR    1790. 

Ne  commonentem  recta  tpeme.— Buchanan. 
Despise  not  my  good  counsel. 

HE  who  sits  from  day  to  day, 
Where  the  prisoned  lark  is  hung, 

Heedless  of  his  loudest  lay, 

Hardly  knows  that  he  has  sung. 

Where  the  watchman  in  his  round 
Nightly  lifts  his  voice  on  high, 

None,  accustomed  to  the  sound, 
Wakes  the  sooner  for  his  cry. 

So  your  verse-man  I,  and  clerk, 
Yearly  in  my  song  proclaim 

Death  at  hand — yourselves  his  mark— 
And  the  foe's  unerring  aim. 

Duly  at  my  time  I  come, 

Publishing  to  all  aloud — 
Soon  the  grave  must  be  your  home, 

And  your  only  suit,  a  shroud. 

But  the  monitory  strain, 

Oft  repeated  in  your  ears, 
Seems  to  sound  too  much  in  vain, 

Winds  no  notice,  wakes  no  fears. 


430  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

Can  a  truth,  by  all  confessed 
Of  such  magnitude  and  weight 

Grow,  by  being  oft  impressed. 
Trivial  as  a  parrot's  prate  ? 

Pleasuie's  call  attention  wins, 

Hear  it  often  as  we  may ; 
New  as  ever  seem  our  sins, 

Though  committed  every  day. 

Death  and  Judgment,  Heaven  and  Hell — 

These  alone,  so  often  heard, 
No  more  move  us  than  the  bell, 

When  some  stranger  is  interred. 

O  then,  ere  the  turf  or  tomb 

Cover  us  from  every  eye, 
Spirit  of  instruction  come, 

Make  us  learn,  that  we  must  die. 


ON  A  SIMILAR  OCCASION. 

FOR   THE  YEAR    1792. 

Ftlix,  qui  potuit  rerum  cognoscere  causa*, 
Atque  metus  omnes  et  inexorabilefatum 
Subjecit  pedibus,  strepitumque  Acherontit  avarit 

Viifc. 

Happy  the  mortal,  who  has  traced  effects 
To  their  fir^t  cause,  cast  fear  beneath  his  feet, 
And  Death  and  roaring  Hell's  voracious  fires! 

THANKLESS  for  favours  from  on  high, 
Man  thinks  he  fades  too  soon ;. 

Though  'tis  his  privilege  to  die, 
Would  he  improve  the  boon. 

But  he,  not  wise  enough  to  scan 

His  blest  concerns  aright, 
Would  gladly  stretch  life's  little  span 

To  ages,  if  he  might. 

To  ages  in  a  world  of  pain, 
To  ages,  where  he  goes 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  42J 

Galled  by  affliction's  heavy  chain, 
And  hopeless  of  repose. 

Strange  fondness  of  the  human  heart, 

Enamoured  of  its  harm  ! 
Strange  world,  that  costs  it  so  much  smart, 

And  still  has  power  to  charm. 

Whence  has  the  world  her  magic  power  ? 

Why  deem  we  death  a  foe  ? 
Recoil  from  weary  life's  best  hour, 

And  covet  longer  wo  ? 

The  cause  is  Conscience — Conscience  oft 

Her  tale  of  guilt  renews  : 
Her  voice  is  terrible  though  soft, 

And  dread  of  death  ensues. 

Then  anxious  to  be  longer  spared, 

Man  mourns  his  fleeting  breath : 
All  evils  then  seem  light,  compared 

With  the  approach  of  Death. 

'Tis  judgment  shakes  him  ;  there's  the  fear 

That  prompts  the  wish  to  stay  ; 
He  has  incurred  a  long  arrear, 

And  must  despair  to  pay. 

Pay  ! — follow  Christ,  and  all  is  paid : 

His  death  your  peace  ensures  ; 
Think  on  the  grave  where  he  was  laid, 

And  calm  descends  to  yours. 


36 


42?  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

ON  A  SIMILAR  OCCASION. 

FOR   THE   YEAR    1",93. 

DC  tacris  autem  hate  sit  una  sententia,  ut  conserventur. 

Cic.  de  Leg. 

But  let  us  all  concur  in  this  one  sentiment,  that  things  sacred  be  invfohtta. 

HE  lives,  who  lives  to  God  alone, 

And  all  are  dead  beside  ; 
For  other  source  than  God  is  none 

Whence  life  can  be  supplied. 

To  live  to  God  is  to  requite 

His  love  as  best  we  may ; 
To  make  his  precepts  our  delight, 

His  promises  our  stay. 

But  life,  within  a  narrow  ring 

Of  giddy  joys  comprised, 
Is  falsely  named,  and  no  such  thing, 

But  rather  death  disguised. 

Can  life  in  them  deserve  the  name, 

Who  only  live  to  prove 
For  what  poor  toys  they  can  disclaim 

An  endless  life  above  ? 

Who,  much  diseased,  yet  nothing  feel, 

Much  menaced,  nothing  dread  ; 
Have  wounds,  which  only  God  can  heal, 

Yet  never  ask  his  aid  ? 

Who  deem  his  house  a  useless  place, 

Faith,  want  of  common  sense  ; 
And  ardour  in  the  Christian  race, 

A  hypocrite's  pretence  ? 

Who  trample  order  ;  and  the  day, 

Which  God  asserts  his  own, 
Dishonour  with  unhallowed  play, 
worship  chance  alone  ? 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  423 

If  scorn  of  God's  commands,  impressed 

On  word  and  deed,  imply 
The  better  part  of  man  unblessed 

With  life  that  cannot  die : 

Such  want  it,  and  that  want,  uncured 

Till  man  resigns  his  breath, 
Speaks  him  a  criminal,  assured 

Of  everlasting  death. 

Sad  period  to  a  pleasant  course  ! 

Yet  so  will  God  repay 
Sabbaths  profaned  without  remorse, 

And  mercy  cast  away. 


INSCRIPTION. 

FOR   THE   TOMB   OF   MR.    HAMILTON. 

PAUSE  here,  and  think ;  a  monitory  rhyme 
Demands  one  moment  of  thy  fleeting  time. 

Consult  life's  silent  clock,  thy  bounding  vein  ; 
Seems  it  to  say — "  Health  here  has  long  to  reign  ?w 
Hast  thou  the  vigour  of  thy  youth  ?  an  eye 
That  beams  delight  ?  a  heart  untaught  to  sigh  ? 
Yet  fear.     Youth  ofttimes  healthful  and  at  ease, 
Anticipates  a  day  it  never  sees ; 
And  many  a  time,  like  Hamilton's,  aloud 
Exclaims,  "  Prepare  thee  for  an  early  shroud." 


EPITAPH    ON    A    HARE. 

HERE  lies,  whom  hound  did  ne'er  pursue, 
Nor  swifter  greyhound  follow, 

Whose  feet  ne'er  tainted  morning  dew, 
Nor  ear  heard  huntsman's  halo'. 


424  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

Old  Tiney,  surliest  of  his  kind, 
Who  nursed  with  tender  care, 

And  to  domestic  hounds  confined, 
Was  still  a  wild  Jack-hare. 

Though  duly  from  my  hand  he  took 

His  pittance  every  night, 
He  did  it  with  a  jealous  look, 

And,  when  he  could,  would  bite. 

His  diet  was  of  wheaten  bread, 
And  milk  and  oats,  and  straw ; 

Thistles,  or  lettuces  instead, 
With  sand  to  scour  his  maw. 

On  twigs  of  hawthorn  he  regaled, 

Or  pippin's  russet  peal, 
And,  when  his  juicy  salads  failed, 

Slice  carrot  pleased  him  well. 

A  Turkey  carpet  was  his  lawn, 
Whereon  he  loved  to  bound, 

To  skip  and  gambol  like  a  fawn, 
And  swing  his  rump  around. 

His  frisking  was  at  evening  hours, 

For  then  he  lost  his  fear, 
But  most  before  approaching  showers, 

Or  when  a  storm  drew  near. 

Eight  years  and  five  round  rolling  moons 

He  thus  saw  steal  away, 
Dozing  out  all  his  idle  noons, 

And  every  night  at  play. 

I  kept  him  for  his  humour's  sake, 

For  he  would  oft  beguile 
My  heart  of  thoughts  that  made  it  ache, 

And  force  me  to  a  smile. 

But  now  beneath  his  walnut  shade 
He  finds  his  long  last  home, 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

And  waits,  in  snug  concealment  laid, 
Till  gentler  Puss  shall  come. 

He,  still  more  aged,  feels  the  shocks, 
From  which  no  care  can  save, 

And,  partner  once  of  Tiney's  box, 
Must  soon  partake  his  grave. 


EPITAPHIUM    ALTERUM. 

Hie  etiam  jacet, 
Qui  totum  novennium  vixit 

Puss. 
Siste  paulisper, 

Q,ui  praeteriturus  es, 

Et  tecum  sic  reputa — 

Hunc  neque  canis  venaticus, 

Nee  plumbum  missile, 

Nee  laqueus, 
Nee  imbres  nimii, 

Confecere : 

Tamen  mortuus  est — 
Et  moriar  ego. 


STANZAS. 

OM   THE   FIRST  PUBLICATION  OF   SIR   CHARLES  GRANDI9ON,   III 
1753. 

To  rescue  from  the  tyrant's  sword 

Th'  oppressed  ; — unseen  and  unimplored, 

To  cheer  the  face  of  wo  ; 
Prom  lawless  insult  to  defend 
An  orphan's  right—  a  fallen  friend, 

And  a  forgiven  foe ; 

These,  these  distinguish  from  the  crowd, 
And  these  alone,  the  great  and  good, 
36* 


426  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

The  guardians  of  mankind  ; 
Whose  bosoms  with  these  virtues  heave 
O,  with  what  matchless  speed,  they  leave 

The  multitude  behind ! 

Then  ask  ye,  from  what  cause  on  earth 
Virtues  like  these  derive  their  birth, 

Derived  from  heaven  alone, 
Full  on  that  favoured  breast  they  shine, 
Where  faith  and  resignation  join 

To  call  the  blessing  down. 

Such  is  that  heart : — but  while  the  Muse 
Thy  theme,  O  RICHARDSON,  pursues, 

Her  feeble  spirits  faint  : 
She  cannot  reach,  and  would  not  wrong, 
That  subject  for  an  angel's  song, 

The  hero,  and  the  saint ! 


ADDRESS    TO    MISS 

ON   READING  THE  PRAYER  FOR  IN  DIFFERENCE. 

AND  dwells  there  in  a  female  heart, 

By  bounteous  heaven  designed 
The  choicest  raptures  to  impart, 

To  feel  the  most  refined — 

Dwells  there  a  wish  in  such  a  breast 

Its  nature  to  forego, 
To  smother  in  ignoble  rest 

At  once  both  bliss  and  wo. 

Far  be  the  thought,  and  far  the  strain, 

Which  breathes  the  low  desire, 
How  sweet  soe'er  the  verse  complain, 

Though  Phoebus  string  the  lyre. 

Come  then,  fair  maid,  (in  nature  wise) 
Who  knowing  them  can  tell 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  427 

Prom  generous  sympathy  what  joys 
The  glowing  bosom  swell. 

In  justice  to  the  various  powers 

Of  pleasing,  which  you  share, 
Join  me,  amid  your  silent  hours, 

To  form  the  better  prayer. 

With  lenient  balm,  may  OVron  hence 

To  fairy-land  be  driven  ; 
With  every  herb  that  blunts  the  sense 

Mankind  received  from  Heaven. 

"  Oh !  if  my  Sovereign  Author  please, 

Far  be  it  from  my  fate, 
To  live,  unblest  in  torpid  ease 

And  slumber  on  in  state. 

'Each  tender  tie  of  life  defied 

Whence  social  pleasures  spring, 
Unmoved  with  all  the  world  beside, 

A  solitary  thing — " 

Some  alpine  mountain,  wrapt  in  snow 

Thus  braves  the  whirling  blast, 
Eternal  winter  doomed  to  know, 

No  genial  spring  to  taste. 

Jn  vain  warm  suns  their  influence  shed 

The  zephyrs  sport  in  vain, 
He  rears,  unchanged,  his  barren  head, 

Whilst  beauty  decks  the  plain. 

What  though  in  scaly  armour  drest, 

Indifference  may  repel 
The  shafts  of  wo — in  such  a  breast 

No  joy  can  ever  dwell. 

'Tis  woven  in  the  world's  great  plan, 

And  fixed  by  heaven's  decree, 
That  all  the  true  delights  of  man 

Should  spring  from  Sympathy. 


428  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

*Tis  nature  bids,  and  whilst  the  laws 

Of  nature  we  retain, 
Our  self-approving  bosom  draws 

A  pleasure  from  its  pain. 

Thus  grief  itself  has  comforts  dear, 

The  sordid  never  know ; 
And  ecstacy  attends  the  tear, 

When  virtue  bids  it  flow. 

For,  when  it  streams  from  that  pure  source^ 

No  bribes  the  heart  can  win, 
To  check,  or  alter  from  its  course 

The  luxury  within. 

Peace  to  the  phlegm  of  sullen  elves, 

Who,  if  from  labour  eased, 
Extend  no  care  beyond  themselves 

Unpleasing  and  unpleased. 

Let  no  low  thought  suggest  the  prayer 
Oh !  grant,  kind  heaven,  to  me 

Long  as  I  draw  ethereal  air, 
Sweet  Sensibility. 

Where'er  the  heavenly  nymph  is  seen, 

With  lustre-beaming  eye, 
A  train,  attendant  on  their  queen, 

(Her  rosy  chorus)  fly. 

The  jocund  Loves  in  Hymen's  band, 

With  torches  ever  bright, 
And  generous  Friendship  hand  in  hand 

With  Pity's  watery  sight. 

The  gentler  virtues  too  are  joined, 

In  youth  immortal  warm, 
The  soft  relations,  which,  combined, 

Give  life  her  every  charm. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  429 

The  arts  come  smiling  in  the  close, 

And  lend  celestial  fire, 
The  marble  breathes,  the  canvass  glows 

The  muses  sweep  the  lyre. 

"  Still  may  my  melting  bosom  cleave 

To  sufferings  not  my  own, 
And  still  the  sigh  responsive  heave 

Where'er  is  heard  a  groan. 

«  So  pity  shall  take  Virtue's  part, 

Her  natural  ally, 
And  fashioning  my  softened  heart, 

Prepare  it  for  the  sky." 

This  artless  vow  may  heaven  receive, 

And  you,  fond  maid,  approve ; 
So  may  your  guiding  angel  give 

Whate'er  you  wish  or  love  : 

So  may  the  rosy  fingered  hours 

Lead  on  the  various  year, 
And  every  joy,  which  now  is  yours, 

Extend  a  larger  sphere  ] 

And  suns  to  come,  as  round  they  wheel. 

Your  golden  moments  bless, 
With  all  a  tender  heart  can  feel, 

Or  lively  fancy  guess. 


A  TALE, 

FOUNDED   ON   A   FACT   WHICH   HAPPENED   IN   JANUARY,    1779. 

WHERE  Humber  pours  his  rich  commercial  stream, 
There  dwelt  a  wretch,  who  breathed  but  to  blas- 
pheme. 

In  subterraneous  caves  his  life  he  led, 
Black  as  the  mine  in  which  he  wrought  for  bread. 
When  on  a  day,  emerging  from  the  deep, 


430  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

A  sabbath-day,  (such  sabbaths  thousands  keep  !) 

The  wages  of  his  weekly  toil  he  bore 

To  buy  a  cock — whose  blood  might  win  him  more; 

As  if  the  noblest  of  the  feathered  kind 

Were  but  for  battle  and  for  death  designed ; 

As  if  the  consecrated  hours  were  meant 

For  sport,  to  minds  on  cruelty  intent ; 

It  chanced  (such  chances  Providence  obey) 

He  met  a  fellow-labourer  on  the  way, 

Whose  heart  the  same  desires  had  once  inflamed ; 

But  now  the  savage  temper  was  reclaimed. 

Persuasion  on  his  lips  had  taken  place  ; 

For  all  plead  well  who  plead  the  cause  of  grace : 

His  iron-heart  with  scripture  he  assailed, 

Wooed  him  to  hear  a  sermon,  and  prevailed. 

His  faithful  bow  the  mighty  preacher  drew, 

Swift,  as  the  lightning-glance,  the  arrow  flew. 

He  wept ;  he  trembled  ;  cast  his  eyes  around, 

To  find  a  worse  than  he ;  but  none  he  found. 

He  felt  his  sins,  and  wondered  he  should  feel. 

Grace  made  the  wound,  and  grace  alone  could  heaL 

Now  farewell  oaths,  and  blasphemies,  and  lies  1 
He  quits  the  sinner's  for  the  martyr's  prize. 
That  holy  day  which  washed  with  many  a  tear, 
Gilded  with  hope,  yet  shaded  too  by  fear. 
The  next,  his  swarthy  brethren  of  the  mine 
Learned,  by  his  altered  speech — the  change  divine, 
Laughed  when  they  should  have  wept,  and  swore 

the  day 

Was  nigh,  when  he  would  swear  as  fast  as  they. 
"  No,  (said  the  penitent,)  such  words  shall  share 
This  breath  no  more ;  devoted  now  to  prayer. 
O  !  if  Thou  see'st  (thine  eye  the  future  sees) 
That  I  shall  yet  again  blaspheme,  like  these ; 
Now  strike  me  to  the  ground,  on  which  I  kneel, 
Ere  yet  this  heart  relapses  into  steel ; 
Now  take  me  to  that  Heaven  I  once  defied, 
Thy  presence,  thy  embrace  !" — He  spoke  and  died. 


MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS.  431 

TO  THE  REV.  MR.  NEWTON 

ON  BIS  RETURN  FROM  RAMSGATE. 

THAT  ocean  you  have  late  surveyed, 

Those  rocks  I  too  have  seen, 
But  I,  afflicted  and  dismayed, 

You  tranquil  and  serene. 

You  from  the  flood  controlling  steep 

Saw  stretched  before  your  view, 
With  conscious  joy,  the  threatening  deep, 

No  longer  such  to  you. 

To  me,  the  waves  that  ceaseless  broke 

Upon  the  dangerous  coast, 
Hoarsely  and  ominously  spoke 

Of  all  my  treasure  lost. 

Your  sea  of  troubles  you  have  past, 

And  found  the  peaceful  shore  ; 
1,  tempest-tossed,  and  wrecked  at  last, 

Come  home  to  port  no  more. 


A  POETICAL  EPISTLE  TO  LADY  AUSTEN 

DEAR  ANNA — between  friend  and  friend, 
Prose  answers  every  common  end ; 
Serves,  in  a  plain  and  homely  way, 
T'  express  th'  occurrence  of  the  day ; 
Our  health,  the  weather,  and  the  news  ; 
What  walks  we  take,  what  books  we  choose ; 
And  all  the  floating  thoughts  we  find 
Upon  the  surface  of  the  mind. 

But  when  a  poet  takes  tho  pen, 
Far  more  alive  than  other  men, 
He  feels  a  gentle  tingling  corns 


432  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

Down  to  his  finger  and  his  thumb, 

Derived  from  Nature's  noblest  part 

The  centre  of  a  glowing  heart : 

And  this  is  what  the  world,  who  knows 

No  flights  above  the  pitch  of  prose, 

His  more  sublime  vagaries  slighting, 

Denominates  an  itch  for  writing. 

No  wonder  I,  who  scribble  rhyme 

To  catch  the  triflers  of  the  time, 

And  tell  them  truths  divine  and  clear, 

Which,  couched  in  prose,  they  will  not  hear ; 

Who  labour  hard  t'  allure  and  draw 

The  loiterers  I  never  saw, 

Should  feel  that  itching,  and  that  tingling, 

With  all  my  purpose  intermingling, 

To  your  intrinsic  merit  true, 

When  called  t7  address  myself  to  you. 

Mysterious  are  his  ways,  whose  power 
Brings  forth  that  unexpected  hour, 
When  minds,  that  never  met  before, 
Shall  meet,  unite,  and  part  no  more : 
It  is  th'  allotment  of  the  skies, 
The  hand  of  the  Supremely  Wise,  **/ 

That  guides  and  governs  our  affections 
•  And  plans  and  orders  our  connexions : 
Directs  us  in  our  distant  road, 
And  marks  the  bounds  of  our  abode. 
Thus  we  were  settled  when  you  found  us, 
Peasants  and  children  all  around  us, 
Not  dreaming  of  so  dear  a  friend, 
Deep  in  the  abyss  of  Silver-End.* 
Thus  Martha,  e'en  against  her  will, 
Perched  on  the  top  of  yonder  hill ; 
And  you,  though  you  must  needs  prefer 
The  fairer  scenes  of  sweet  Sancerre,t 
Are  come  from  distant  Loire,  to  choose 

*  An  obscure  part  of  Olney,  adjoining  to  the  residence  of  Cowper, 
which  faced  the  market-place. 
t  Lady  Austen's  residence  in  France 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

A  cottage  on  the  banks  of  Ouse. 
This  page  of  Providence  quite  new 
And  now  just  opening  to  our  view, 
Employs  our  present  thoughts  and  pains 
To  guess,  and  spell,  what  it  contains  ; 
But  day  by  day,  and  year  by  year, 
Will  make  the  dark  enigma  clear  ; 
And  furnish  us,  perhaps,  at  last, 
Like  other  scenes  already  past, 
With  proof,  that  we,  and  our  affairs, 
Are  part  of  a  Jehovah's  cares  : 
For  God  unfolds,  by  slow  degrees, 
The  purport  of  his  deep  decrees ; 
Sheds  every  hour  a  clearer  light 
In  aid  of  our  defective  sight ; 
And  spreads,  at  length,  before  the  soul, 
A  beautiful  and  perfect  whole, 
Which  busy  man's  inventive  brain 
Toils  to  anticipate  in  vain. 

Say,  Anna,  had  you  never  known 
The  beauties  of  a  rose  full  blown, 
Could  you,  though  luminous  your  eye, 
By  looking  on  the  bud,  descry, 
Or  guess,  with  a  prophetic  power, 
The  future  splendour  of  the  flower  ? 
Just  so,  th7  Omnipotent,  who  turns 
The  system  of  a  world's  concerns, 
Prom  mere  minutiae  can  educe 
Events  of  most  important  use ; 
And  bid  a  dawning  sky  display 
The  blaze  of  a  meridian  day. 
The  works  of  man  tend,  one  and  all, 
As  needs  they  must,  from  great  to  small ; 
And  vanity  absorbs  at  length 
The  monuments  of  human  strength. 
But  who  can  tell  how  vast  the  plan 
Which  this  day's  incident  began  ? 
Too  small,  perhaps,  the  slight  occasion 

37 


434  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMa 

For  our  dim-sighted  observation  j 
It  passed  unnoticed,  as  the  bird 
That  cleaves  the  yielding  air  unheard, 
And  yet  may  prove,  when  understood, 
A  harbinger  of  endless  good. 

Not  that  I  deem,  or  mean  to  call 
Friendship  a  blessing  cheap  or  small : 
But  merely  to  remark,  that  ours, 
Like  some  of  nature's  sweetest  flowers, 
Rose  from  a  seed  of  tiny  size, 
That  seemed  to  promise  no  such  prize ; 
A  transient  visit  intervening, 
And  made  almost  without  a  meaning, 
(Hardly  the  effect  of  inclination, 
Much  less  of  pleasing  expectation,) 
Produced  a  friendship,  then  begun, 
That  has  cemented  us  in  one ; 
And  placed  it  in  our  power  to  prove 
By  long  fidelity  and  love, 
That  Solomon  has  wisely  spoken, 
"  A  threefold  cord  is  not  soon  broken.51 


SONG*. 

Air.— The  Lass  of  Patie's  Mitt, 

WHEN  all  within  is  peace, 

How  Nature  seems  to  smile  ! 
Delights  that  never  cease, 

The  livelong  day  beguile. 
From  morn  to  dewy  eve, 

With  open  hand  she  showers 
Fresh  blessings  to  deceive, 

And  soothe  the  silent  hours, 

It  is  content  of  heart 
Gives  Nature  power  to  please ; 

*  Written  at  the  request  of  Lady  Auffton. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

The  mind  that  feels  no  smart, 

Enlivens  all  it  sees  : 
Can  make  a  wintry  sky 

Seem  bright  as  smiling  May, 
And  evening's  closing  eye 

As  peep  of  early  day. 

The  vast  majestic  globe, 

So  beauteously  arrayed 
In  Nature's*  various  robe 

With  wondrous  skill  displayed, 
Is  to  a  mourner's  heart 

A  dreary  wild  at  best ; 
It  flutters  to  depart, 

And  longs  to  be  at  rest. 


VERSES 

SELECTED  FROM  AN  OCCASIONAL  POEM,  ENTITLED  VALEDICTION. 

OH  Friendship  !  Cordial  of  the  human  breast 
So  little  felt,  so  fervently  professed  ! 
Thy  blossoms  deck  our  unsuspecting  years ; 
The  promise  of  delicious  fruit  appears  : 
We  hug  the  hopes  of  constancy  and  truth, 
Such  is  the  folly  of  our  dreaming  youth ; 
But  soon,  alas  !  detect  the  rash  mistake 
That  sanguine  inexperience  loves  to  make ; 
And  view  with  tears  th'  expected  harvest  lost, 
Decayed  by  time,  or  withered  by  a  frost, 
Whoever  undertakes  a  friend's  great  part 
Should  be  renewed  in  nature,  pure  in  heart, 
Prepared  for  martyrdom,  and  strong  to  prove 
A  thousand  ways  the  force  of  genuine  love. 
He  may  be  called  to  give  up  health  and  gain, 
T'  exchange  content  for  trouble,  ease  for  pain, 
To  echo  sigh  for  sigh,  and  groan  for  groan, 
And  wet  his  cheeks  with  sorrows  not  his  own. 


436  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

The  heart  of  man,  for  such  a  task  too  frail, 
When  most  relied  on,  is  most  sure  to  fail ; 
And,  summoned  to  partake  its  fellow's  wo, 
Starts  from  its  office,  like  a  broken  bow. 

Votaries  of  business,  and  of  pleasure  prove 
Faithless  alike  in  friendship  and  in  love. 
Retired  from  all  the  circles  of  the  gay, 
And  all  the  crowds,  that  bustle  life  away, 
To  scenes,  where  competition,  envy,  strife, 
Beget  no  thunder-clouds  to  trouble  life, 
Let  me,  the  charge  of  some  good  angel,  find 
One,  who  has  known,  and  has  escaped  mankind  ; 
Polite,  yet  virtuous,  who  has  brought  away 
The  manners,  not  the  morals  of  the  day : 
With  him,  perhaps  with  her,  (for  men  have  known 
No  firmer  friendships  than  the  fair  have  shown,) 
Let  me  enjoy,  in  some  un though t-of  spot, 
All  former  friends  forgiven,  and  forgot, 
Down  to  the  close  of  life's  fast  fading  scene, 
Union  of  hearts,  without  a  flaw  between. 
'Tis  grace,  'tis  bounty,  and  it  calls  for  praise, 
If  God  give  health,  that  sunshine  of  our  days  ! 
And  if  he  add,  a  blessing  shared  by  few, 
Content  of  heart,  more  praises  still  are  due — 
But  if  he  grant  a  friend,  that  boon  possessed, 
Indeed  is  treasure,  and  crowns  all  the  rest ; 
And  giving  one,  whose  heart  is  in  the  skies, 
Born  from  above,  and  made  divinely  wise, 
He  gives,  what  bankrupt  nature  never  can, 
Whose  noblest  coin  is  light  and  brittle  man, 
Gold,  purer  far  than  Ophir  ever  knew, 
A  soul,  an  image  of  himself,  and  therefore  true. 


EPITAPH  ON  JOHNSON. 

HERE  Johnson  lies — a  sage  by  all  allowed, 

Whom  to  have  bred,  may  well  make  England  proud; 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  437 

Whose  prose  was  eloquence,  by  wisdom  taught 

The  graceful  vehicle  of  virtuous  thought ; 

Whose  verse  may  claim — grave,    masculine,  and 

strong, 

Superior  praise  to  the  mere  poet's  song  ; 
Who  many  a  noble  gift  from  Heaven  possessed, 
And  faith  at  last,  alone  worth  all  the  rest. 
O  man,  immortal  by  a  double  prize, 
By  fame  on  earth — by  glory  in  the  skies ! 


TO  MISS  C ,  ON  HER  BIRTH-DAY. 

How  many  between  east  and  west, 

Disgrace  their  parent  earth, 
Whose  deeds  constrain  us  to  detest 

The  day  that  gave  them  birth  ! 

Not  so  when  Stella's  natal  morn 

Revolving  months  restore, 
We  can  rejoice  that  she  was  bora, 

And  wish  her  born  once  more. 


GRATITUDE. 

ADDRESSED   TO    LADY    HESKETH. 

THIS  cap,  that  so  stately  appears, 

With  ribbon-bound  tassel  on  high, 
Which  seems  by  the  crest  that  it  rears 

Ambitious  of  brushing  the  sky  : 
This  cap  to  my  cousin  I  owe, 

She  gave  it,  and  gave  me  beside, 
Wreathed  into  an  elegant  bow, 

The  ribbon  with  which  it  is  tied. 

This  wheel -footed  studying  chair, 
Contrived  both  for  toil  and  repose, 


438  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

Wide  elbowed  and  wadded  with  hair, 
In  which  I  both  scribble  and  doze, 

Bright  studded  to  dazzle  the  eyes, 
And  rival  in  lustre  of  that 

In  which,  or  astronomy  lies, 
Fair  Cassiopeia  sat : 

These  carpets,  so  soft  to  the  foot, 

Caledonia's  traffic  and  pride, 
O  spare  them  ye  knights  of  the  boot, 

Escaped  from  a  cross-country-ride. 
This  table  arid  mirror  within, 

Secure  from  collision  and  dust, 
At  which  I  oft  shave  cheek  and  chin, 

And  periwig  nicely  adjust : 

This  moveable  structure  of  shelves, 

For  its  beauty  admired  and  its  use, 
And  charged  with  octavos  and  twelves, 

The  gayest  I  had  to  produce  ; 
Where,  flaming  in  scarlet  and  gold, 

My  poems  enchanted  I  view, 
And  hope,  in  due  time,  to  behold 

My  Iliad  and  Odyssey  too  ; 

This  china,  that  decks  the  alcove, 

Which  here  people  call  a  buffet, 
But  what  the  gods  call  it  above, 

Has  ne'er  been  revealed  to  us  yet ; 
These  curtains,  that  keep  the  room  warm 

Or  cool,  as  the  season  demands, 
These  stoves  that  for  pattern  and  form, 

Seem  the  labour  of  Mulciber's  hands: 

All  these  are  not  half  that  I  owe 
To  one  from  her  earliest  youth 

To  me  ever  ready  to  show 

Benignity,  friendship,  and  truth  : 

For  time  the  destroyer  declared 
And  foe  of  our  perishing  kind, 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  439 

If  even  her  face  he  has  spared, 
Much  less  could  he  alter  her  mind. 

Thus  compassed  about  with  the  goods 

And  chattels  of  leisure  and  ease, 
I  indulge  my  poetical  moods 

In  many  such  fancies  as  these  ; 
And  fancies  I  fear  they  will  seem — 

Poets'  goods  are  not  often  so  fine  ; 
The  poets  will  swear  that  I  dream, 

When  I  sing  of  the  splendour  of  mine. 


THE  FLATTING-MILL. 

AN   ILLUSTRATION. 

WHEN  a  bar  of  pure  silver,  or  Ingot  of  gold, 
Is  sent  to  be  flatted,  or  wrought  into  length, 

It  is  passed  between  cylinders  often  and  rolled 
In  an  engine  of  utmost  mechanical  strength. 

Thus  tortured  and  squeezed,  at  last  it  appears 
Like  a  loose  heap  of  ribbon,  a  glittering  show, 

Like  music  it  tinkles  and  rings  in  your  ears, 
And,  warmed  by  the  pressure,  is  all  i  n  a  glow. 

This  process  achieved,  it  is  doomed  to  sustain 
The  thump-after-thump  of  a  gold-beater's  mallet, 

And  at  last  is  of  service  in  sickness  or  pain 
To  cover  a  pill  for  a  delicate  palate. 

Alas  for  the  poet !  who  dares  undertake 
To  urge  reformation  of  national  ill — 

His  head  and  his  heart  are  both  likely  to  ache 
With  the  double  employment  of  mallet  arid  milL 

If  he  wish  to  instruct,  he  must  learn  to  delight, 
Smooth,  ductile,  and  even,  his  fancy  must  flow, 

Must  tinkle  and  glitter  like  gold  to  the  sight, 
And  catch  in  its  progress  a  sensible  glow. 


**D  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

After  all,  he  must  beat  it  as  thin  and  as  fine 

As  the  leaf  that  unfolds  what  an  invalid  swallows, 

For  truth  is  unwelcome,  however  divine, 
And  unless  you  adorn  it  a  nausea  follows. 


TO  MRS.  THROCKMORTON, 

ON  HER  BEAUTIFUL  TRANSCRIPT   OF  HORACE'S   ODE,  AD  UfiRUM 
SUUM. 

MARIA,  could  Horace  have  guessed 

What  honour  awaited  his  ode, 
To  his  own  little  volume  addressed, 

The  honour  which  you  have  bestowed, 
Who  have  traced  it  in  characters  here 

So  elegant,  even  and  neat, 
He  had  laughed  at  the  critical  sneer, 

Which  he  seems  to  have  trembled  to  meet 

And  sneer  if  you  please  he  had  said,    • 

A  nymph  shall  hereafter  arise, 
Who  shall  give  me,  when  you  are  all  dead, 

The  glory  your  malice  denies. 
Shall  dignity  give  to  my  lay, 

Although  but  a  mere  bagatelle ; 
And  even  a  poet  shall  say, 

Nothing  ever  was  written  so  welL 


STANZAS 

On  the  late  indecent  liberties  taken  with  the  remains  of  the  great 
Anno  1790. 

4  ME  too,  perchance,  in  future  days, 
The  sculptured  stone  shall  show 
With  Paphian  myrtle  or  with  bays 
Parnassian  on  my  brow. 

a  But  I,  or  ere  that  season  come, 
Escaped  from  every  care, 


uf  ISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  441 

Shall  reach  my  refuge  in  the  tomb 
And  sleep  securely  there."* 

So  sang,  in  Roman  tone  and  style, 

The  youthful  bard,  ere  long 
Ordained  to  grace  his  native  isle 

With  her  sublimest  song. 

Who  then  but  must  conceive  disdain, 

Hearing  the  deed  unblest 
Of  wretches  who  have  dared  profane 

His  dread  sepulchral  rest  ? 

Ill  fare  the  hands  that  heaved  the  stones 

Where  Milton's  ashes  lay, 
That  trembled  not  to  grasp  his  bones 

And  steal  his  dust  away  ! 

O  ill-requited  bard  !  neglect 

Thy  living  worth  repaid, 
And  blind  idolatrous  respect 

As  much  affronts  thee  dead. 


TO    MRS.    KING, 

On  her  kind  Present  to  the  Author,  a  Patch- work  Counterpane  of  tier  c 

making. 

THE  Bard,  if  e'er  he  feel  at  all, 
Must  sure  be  quickened  by  a  call 

Both  on  his  heart  and  head, 
To  pay  with  tuneful  thanks  the  care 
And  kindness  of  a  lady  fair 

Who  deigns  to  deck  his  bed. 

A  bed  i'ike  this,  in  ancient  time, 
On  Ida's  barren  top  sublime, 

*  Porsitan  et  nostros  ducat  de  marmore  vultus 
Necteus  aut  Paphia  myrti  aut  Parnasside  lauri 
Fronde  comas — At  ego  secura  pacf1  qmesqiiam. 

Milton  in  Mansa. 


442  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

(As  Homer's  Epic  shows) 
Composed  of  sweetest  vernal  flowers, 
Without  the  aid  of  sun  and  showers, 

For  Jove  and  Juno  rose. 

Less  beautiful,  however  gay, 

Is  that  which  in  the  scorching  day 

Receives  the  weary  swain 
Who,  laying  his  long  scythe  aside, 
Sleeps  on  some  bank  with  daisies  pied, 

Till  roused  to  toil  again. 

What  labours  of  the  loom  I  see  ! 
Looms  lumberless  have  groaned  for  me ! 

Should  every  maiden  come 
To  scramble  for  the  patch  that  bears 
The  impress  of  the  robe  she  wears, 

The  bell  would  toll  for  some. 

And  oh,  what  havoc  would  ensue ! 
This  bright  display  of  every  hue 

All  in  a  moment  fled ! 
As  if  a  storm  should  strip  the  bowers 
Of  all  their  tendrils,  leaves,  and  flowers 

Each  pocketing  a  shred. 

Thanks,  then,  to  every  gentle  fair 
Who  will  not  come  to  peck  me  bare, 

As  bird  of  borrowed  feather, 
And  thanks,  to  One,  above  them  all, 
The  gentle  Fair  of  Perterihall, 

Who  put  the  whole  together. 


THE  JUDGMENT  OP  THE  POETS. 

Two  nymphs,  both  nearly  of  an  age, 
Of  numerous  charms  possessed, 

A  warm  dispute  once  chanced  to  wage. 
Whose  temper  was  the  best. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  443 

The  worth  of  each  had  been  complete, 

Had  both  alike  been  mild  : 
But  one,  although  her  smile  was  sweet, 

Frowned  oftener  than  she  smiled. 

And  in  her  humour,  when  she  frowned, 

Would  raise  her  voice  and  roar, 
And  shake  with  fury  to  the  ground 

The  garland  that  she  wore. 

The  other  was  of  gentler  cast, 

From  all  such  frenzy  clear, 
Her  frowns  were  seldom  known  to  last, 

And  never  proved  severe. 

The  poets  of  renown  in  song 

The  nymphs  referred  the  cause, 
Who,  strange  to  tell,  all  judged  it  wrong, 

And  gave  misplaced  applause. 

They  gentle  called,  and  kind  and  soft, 

The  flippant  and  the  scold, 
And  though  she  changed  her  mood  so  oft 

That  falling  left  untold. 

No  judges,  sure,  were  e'er  so  mad, 

Or  so  resolved  to  err — 
In  short,  the  charms  her  sister  had 

They  lavished  all  on  her. 

Then  thus  the  god  whom  fondly  they 

Their  great  inspirer  call, 
Was  heard,  one  genial  summer's  day 

To  reprimand  them  all  : 

"  Since  thus  ye  have  combined/'  he  said, 

"  My  favourite  nymph  to  slight, 
Adorning  May,  that  peevish  maid, 

With  June's  undoubted  right, 

"  The  minx  shall,  for  your  folly's  sake, 
Still  prove  herself  a  shrew, 


14  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

Shall  make  your  scribbling  fingers  ache, 
And  pinch  your  noses  blue." 


EPITAPH 

ON   M.   HIGGINS,    OP  WESTON. 

LAURELS  may  flourish  round  the  conqueror's 
But  happiest  they,  who  win  the  world  to  come  ; 
Believers  have  a  silent  field  to  fight, 
And  their  exploits  are  veiled  from  human  sight. 
They  in  some  nook,  where  little  known  they  dwell, 
Kneel,  pray  in  faith,  and  rout  the  hosts  of  hell ; 
Eternal  triumphs  crown  their  toils  divine, 
And  all  those  triumphs,  Mary,  now  are  thine. 


THE    RETIRED    CAT. 

A  POET'S  Cat,  sedate  and  grave 
As  poet  well  could  wish  to  have, 
Was  much  addicted  to  inquire 
For  nooks  to  which  she  might  retire, 
And  where,  secure  as  mouse  in  chink, 
She  might  repose,  or  sit  and  think. 
I  know  not  where  she  caught  the  trick 
Nature  perhaps  herself  had  cast  her 
In  such  a  mould  PHILOSOPHICIUE, 
Or  else  she  learned  it  of  her  master 
Sometimes  ascending,  debonair 
An  apple-tree,  or  lofty  pear, 
Lodged  with  convenience  in  the  fork, 
She  watched  the  gardener  at  his  work 
Sometimes  her  ease  and  solace  sought 
In  an  old  empty  watering  pot, 
There  wanting  nothing,  save  a  fan, 
To  seem  some  mrmph  in  her  sedan, 
Appareled  in  exactest  sort, 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  445 

And  ready  to  be  borne  to  court. 

But  love  of  change  it  seems  has  place 
Not  only  in  our  wiser  race  ; 
Cats  also  feel,  as  well  as  we, 
That  passion?s  force,  and  so  did  she. 
Her  climbing,  she  began  to  find, 
Exposed  her  too  much  to  the  wind, 
And  the  old  utensil  of  tin 
Was  cold  and  comfortless  within  : 
She  therefore  wished,  instead  of  those, 
Some  place  of  more  serene  repose, 
Where  neither  cold  might  come,  nor  air 
Too  rudely  wanton  with  her  hair, 
And  sought  it  in  the  likeliest  mode 
With  her  new  master's  snug  abode. 

A  drawer  it  chanced,  at  bottom  lined 
With  linen  of  the  softest  kind, 
With  such  as  merchants  introduce 
From  India,  for  the  ladies'  use  ; 
A  drawer  impending  o'er  the  rest, 
Half  open  in  the  topmost  chest, 
Of  depth  enough,  and  none  to  spare, 
Invited  her  to  slumber  there ; 
Puss  with  delight  beyond  expression, 
Surveyed  the  scene  and  took  possession. 
Recumbent  at  her  ease,  ere  long, 
And  lulled  by  her  own  humdrum  song, 
She  left  the  cares  of  life  behind, 
And  slept  as  she  would  sleep  her  last, 
When  in  came,  housewifely  inclined, 
The  chambermaid,  and  shut  it  fast, 
By  no  malignity  impelled,  f 

But  all  unconscious  whom  it  held. 

Awakened  by  the  shock,  (cried  puss) 
"Was  ever  cat  attended  thus  ! 
The  open  drawer  was  left,  I  see, 
Merely  to  prove  a  nest  for  me, 
For  soon  as  I  was  well  composed, 
38 


146  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

Then  came  the  maid,  and  it  was  closed. 
How  smooth  these  'kerchiefs,  and  how  sweet? 
Oh  what  a  delicate  retreat ! 
I  will  resign  myself  to  rest 
Till  Sol  declining  in  the  west, 
Shall  call  to  supper,  when,  no  doubt, 
Susan  will  come,  and  let  me  out/7 

The  evening  came,  the  sun  descended, 
And  puss  remained  still  unattended. 
The  night  rolled  tardily  away, 
(With  her  indeed  'twas  never  day) 
The  sprightly  morn  her  course  renewed, 
The  evening  gray  again  ensued, 
And  puss  came  into  mind  no  more, 
Than  if  entomhed  the  day  before ; 
With  hunger  pinched,  and  pinched  for  room, 
She  now  presaged  approaching  doom. 
Nor  slept  a  single  wink,  nor  purred, 
Conscious  of  jeopardy  incurred. 

That  night,  by  chance,  the  poet,  watching, 
Heard  an  inexplicable  scratching ; 
His  noble  heart  went  pit-a-pat, 
And  to  himself  he  said — "  what's  that  V 
He  drew  the  curtain  at  his  side, 
And  forth  he  peeped  but  nothing  spied. 
Yet,  by  his  ear  directed,  guessed 
Something  imprisoned  in  the  chest 
And,  doubtful  what,  with  prudent  care 
Resolved  it  should  continue  there. 
At  length  a  voice  which  well  he  knew, 
A  long  and  melancholy  mew, 
Saluting  his  poetic  ears, 
Consoled  him  and  dispelled  his  fears , 
He  left  his  bed,  he  trod  the  floor, 
He  'gan  in  haste  the  drawers  explore, 
The  lowest  first,  and  without  stop 
The  rest  in  order  to  the  top. 
For  'tis  a  truth  well  known  to  most, 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  447 

That  whatsoever  thing  is  lost, 

We  seek  it,  ere  it  come  to  light, 

In  every  cranny  but  the  right. 

Forth  skipped  the  cat,  not  now  replete 

As  erst  with  airy  self-conceit, 

Nor  in  her  own  fond  comprehension, 

A  theme  for  all  the  world's  attention, 

But  modest,  sober,  cured  of  all 

Her  notions  hyperbolical, 

And  wishing  for  a  place  of  rest, 

Any  thing  rather  than  a  chest. 

Then  stepped  the  poet  into  bed 

With  this  reflection  in  his  head. 

MORAL.  «;.-*{    , 

Beware  of  too  sublime  a  sense 
Of  your  own  worth  and  consequence. 
The  man  who  dreams  himself  so  great, 
And  his  importance  of  such  weight 
That  all  around  in  all  that's  done 
Must  move  and  act  for  him  alone, 
Will  learn  in  school  of  tribulation 
The  folly  of  his  expectation. 


TO  THE  NIGTINGALE, 

WHICH   THE    AUTHOR   HEARD   SING   ON   NEW-YEAR'fl  DAY* 

WHENCE  is  it,  that  amazed  I  hear 

From  yonder  withered  spray, 
This  foremost  morn  of  all  the  year, 

The  melody  of  May? 

And  why,  since  thousands  would  be  proud 

Of  such  a  favour  shown, 
Am  I  selected  from  the  crowd 

To  witness  it  alone  ? 


448  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

Sing's!  thou,  sweet  Philomel,  to  me, 

For  that  I  also  long 
Have  practised  in  the  groves  like  thee 

Though  not  like  thee  in  song  ? 

Or  sing'st  thou  rather  under  force 

Of  some  divine  command, 
Commissioned  to  presage  a  course 

Of  happier  days  at  hand  1 

Thrice  welcome  th<  ,n  !  for  many  a  long 

And  joyless  year  have  I, 
As  thou  to  day  put  forth  my  song 

Beneath  a  wintry  sky. 

But  thee  no  wintry  skies  can  harm, 

Who  only  need'st  to  sing, 
To  make  e'en  January  charm, 

And  every  season  Spring. 


SONNET, 

TO   WILLIAM   WILBERFORCE,    ESQ. 

THY  country,  Wilberforce,  with  just  disdain, 
Hears  thee  by  cruel  men  and  impious  called 
Frantic,  for  thy  zeal  to  loose  the  enthralled 

From  exile,  public  sale,  and  slavery's  chain. 

Friend  of  the  poor,  the  wronged,  the  fetter-galled, 

Fear  not  lest  labour  such  as  thine  be  vain. 

Thou  hast  achieved  a  part ;  hast  gained  the  ear 

Of  Britain's  senate  to  thy  glorious  cause ; 

Hope  smiles,  joy  springs,  and  though  cold  caution 

pause 

And  weave  delay,  the  better  hour  is  near 
That  shall  remunerate  thy  toils  severe 

By  peace  for  Afric,  fern  ed  with  British  laws. 

Enjoy  what  thou  hast  won,  esteem  and  love 

From  all  the  just  on  earth,  and  all  the  blest  above. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  443 

EPIGRAM. 

PRINTED    IN    THE   NORTHAMPTON    MERCURY. 

To  puriiy  their  wine  s  *me  people  bleed 

A  lamb  into  the  barrel,  and  succeed ; 

No  nostrum,  planters  say,  is  half  so  good 

To  make  fine  sugar,  as  a  negro's  blood. 

Now  lambs  and  negroes  both  are  harmless  things 

And  thence  perhaps  the  wondrous  virtue  springs. 

'Tis  in  the  blood  of  innocence  alone — 

Good  cause  why  planters  never  try  their  own. 


TO  DR.  AUSTIN, 

OP  CECIL-STREET,    LONDON. 

AUSTIN  !  accept  a  grateful  verse  from  mt> 
The  poet's  treasure,  no  inglorious  fee. 
Loved  by  the  Muses,  thy  ingenuous  mind 
Pleasing  requital  in  my  verse  may  find  ; 
Verse  oft  has  dashed  the  scythe  of  Time  aside ; 
Immortalizing  names  which  else  had  died. 
And  O  !  could  I  command  the  glittering  wealth 
With  which  sick  kings  are  glad  to  purchase  health ; 
Yet,  if  extensive  fame  and  sure  to  live, 
Were  in  the  power  of  verse  like  mine  to  give, 
I  would  not  recompense  his  art  with  less, 
Who,  giving  Mary  health,  heals  my  distress. 

Friend  of  my  friend  !*  I  love  thee,  tho7  unknown, 
And  boldly  call  thee,  being  his,  my  own. 


SONNET. 

ADDRESSED   TO    WILLIAM   HALET,    ESQ. 

HALEY — thy  tenderness  fraternal  shown, 
In  our  first  interview,  delightful  guest ! 

*  Ha  ley. 
38* 


450  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

To  Mary  and  me  for  her  dear  sake  distressed 
Such  as  it  is  has  made  my  heart  thy  own, 
Though  heedless  now  of  new  engagements  grown  J 

For  threescore  winters  make  a  wintry  breast, 

And  I  had  purposed  ne'er  to  go  in  quest 
Of  Friendship  more,  except  with  God  alone ; 

But  thou  hast  won  me  :  nor  is  God  my  foe, 
Who,  ere  this  last  afflictive  scene  began, 

Sent  thee  to  mitigate  the  dreadful  blow. 

My  brother,  by  whose  sympathy  I  know 
Thy  true  deserts  infallibly  to  scan, 
Not  more  t'  admire  the  bard  than  love  the  man. 


CATHARINA. 

On  her  Marriage  to  George  Courtnay,  Esq. 

BELIEVE  it  or  not  as  you  choose, 

The  doctrine  is  certainly  true, 
That  the  future  is  known  to  the  muse, 

And  poets  are  oracles  too. 
I  did  but  express  a  desire 

To  see  Catharina  at  home, 
At  the  side  of  my  friend  George''s  fire, 

And  lo — she  is  actually  come. 

Such  prophecy  some  may  despise, 

But  the  wish  of  a  poet  and  friend 
Perhaps  is  approved  in  the  skies, 

And  therefore  attains  to  its  end. 
'Twas  a  wish  that  flew  ardently  forth 

From  a  bosom  effectually  warmed 
With  the  talents,  the  graces,  and  worth 

Of  the  person  for  whom  it  was  formed 

Maria*  would  leave  us,  I  knew, 
To  the  grief  and  regret  of  us  all, 

*Lady  Throckmorton 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEM^.  451 

But  less  to  our  grief,  could  we  view 

Catharina  the  queen  of  the  hall. 
And  therefore  I  wished  as  I  did, 

And  therefore  this  union  of  hands 
Not  a  whisper  was  heard  to  forbid, 

But  all  cry — amen — to  the  bans. 

Since  therefore  I  seem  to  incur 

No  danger  of  wishing  in  vain,^ 
When  making  good  wishes  for  her, 

I  will  e'en  to  my  wishes  again — 
With  one  I  have  made  her  a  wife, 

And  now  I  will  try  with  another, 
Which  I  cannot  suppress  for  my  life — 

How  soon  I  can  make  her  a  mother. 


SONNET. 

TO  GEORGE   ROMNET,   ESd. 

On  his  picture  of  me  in  crayons,  drawn  at  Eartham  in  the  61st  year  of  my  if* 
and  in  the  months  of  August  and  September,  1792. 

ROMNEY  expert,  infallibly  to  trace 

On  chart  or  canvass,  not  the  form  alone 
And  semblance,  but,  however  faintly  shown, 

The  mind's  impression  too  on  every  face — 

With  strokes  that  time  ought  never  to  erase, 
Thou  hast  so  penciled  mine,  that  though  I  own 
The  subject  worthless,  I  have  never  known 

The  artist  shining  with  superior  grace. 

But  this  I  mark — that  symptons  none  of  wo" 
In  thy  incomparable  work  appear. 

Well — I  am  satisfied  it  should  be  so, 

Since,  on  maturer  thought,  the  cause  is  clear 

For  in  my  looks  what  sorrow  couldst  thou  see 

When  I  was  Haley's  guest,  and  sat  to  thee  ? 


452  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


ON  RECEIVING  HALEY'S  PICTURE. 

IN  language  warm  as  could  be  breathed  or  pennetl, 
Thy  picture  speaks  th'  original,  my  friend, 
Not  by  those  looks  that  indicate  thy  mind — 
They  only  speak  thee  friend  of  all  mankind ; 
Expression  here  more  soothing  still  I  see, 
That  friend  of  all  a  partial  friend  to  me. 


ON  A  PLANT  OF  VIRGIN'S  BOWER. 

DESIGNED   TO   COVER   A   GARDEN    SEAT. 

THRIVE,  gentle  plant !  and  weave  a  bower 

For  Mary  and  for  me, 
And  deck  with  many  a  splendid  flower 

Thy  foliage  large  and  free. 

Thou  cam'st  from  Eartham,  and  wilt  shade 

(If  truly  I  divine) 
Some  future  day  th'  illustrious  head 

Of  him  who  made  thee  mine. 

Should  Daphne  show  a  jealous  frown, 

And  envy  seize  the  bay, 
Affirming  none  so  fit  to  crown 

Such  honoured  brows  as  they. 

Thy  cause  with  zeal  we  shall  defend, 

And  with  convincing  power  ; 
For  why  should  not  the  virgin's  friend 

Be  crowned  with  virgin's  bower  ? 


TO  MY  COUSIN,  ANNE  BODHAM, 

ON   RECEIVING   FROM   HER   A   NET-WORK   PURSE,    MADE   BY 
SELF. 

MY  gentle  Anne,  whom  heretofore, 
When  I  was  young,  and  thou  no  more 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  453 

Than  plaything  for  a  nurse, 
I  danced  and  fondled  on  my  knee, 
A  kitten  both  in  size  and  glee, 

T  thank  thee  for  my  purse. 

Gold  pays  the  worth  of  all  things  here  j 
But  not  of  love ; — that  gem's  too  dear 

For  richest  rogues  to  win  it ; 
I,  therefore,  as  a  proof  of  love, 
Esteem  thy  present  far  above 

The  best  things  kept  within  it. 


TO  MRS.  UNWIN. 

MARY  !  1  want  a  lyre  with  other  strings, 

Such  aid  from  heaven  as  some  have  feigned  they 

drew, 
An  eloquence  scarce  given  to  mortals,  new 

And  undebased  by  praise  of  meaner  things. 

That  ere  through  age  or  wo  I  shed  my  wings, 
I  may  record  thy  worth  with  honour  due, 
In  verse  as  musical  as  thou  art  true, 

And  that  immortalizes  whom  it  sings. 

But  thou  hast  little  need.  There  is  a  book 
By  seraphs  writ  with  beams  of  heavenly  light, 

On  which  the  eyes  of  God  not  rarely  look, 
A  chronicle  of  actions  just  and  bright ; 

There  all  thy  deeds,  my  faithful  Mary,  shine, 
And,  since  thou  own'st  that  praise,  I  spare  thee 
mine. 


TO  WILLIAM  HAYLEY,  ESQ. 

DEAR  architect  of  fine  CHATEAUX  in  air, 
Worthier  to  stand  for  ever,  if  they  could, 
Than  any  built  of  stone,  or  yet  of  wood, 


454  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

For  back  of  royal  elephant  to  bear  ! 

O  for  permission  from  the  skies  to  share, 

Much  to  my  own,  though  little  to  thy  good, 

With  thee  (not  subject  to  the  jealous  mood  t 
A  partnership  of  literary  ware  ! 
But  I  am  bankrupt  now ;  and  doomed  hencefo  ih 

To  drudge,  in  descant  dry,  on  others'  lays ; 
Bards,  I  acknowledge,  of  unequalled  worth  ! 

But  what  is  commentator's  happiest  praise  } 

That  he  has  furnished  lights  for  other  eyes 
Which  they,  who  need  them  use,  and  then  lespi^e. 


ON  A  SPANIEL,  CALLED  BEAU, 

KILLING   A    YOUNG   BIRD. 

A  SPANIEL,  Beau,  that  fares  like  you, 

Well-fed,  and  at  his  ease, 
Should  wiser  be  than  to  pursue 

Each  trifle  that  he  sees. 

But  you  have  killed  a  tiny  bird, 

Which  flew  not  till  to-day, 
Against  my  orders,  whom  you  heard 

Forbidding  you  the  prey. 

Nor  did  you  kill  that  you  might  eat, 

And  ease  a  doggish  pain, 
For  him,  though  chased  with  furious  heati 

You  left  where  he  was  slain. 

Nor  was  he  of  the  thievish  sort, 

Or  one  whom  blood  allures, 
But  innocent  was  all  his  sport 

Whom  you  have  torn  for  yours, 

My  dog  !  what  remedy  remains, 
Since,  teach  you  all  I  can, 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  456 

I  see  you,  after  all  my  pains, 
So  much  resemble  man  1 

BEAU'S    REPLY. 

SIR,  when  I  flew  to  seize  the  bird 

In  spite  of  your  command, 
A  louder  voice  than  yours  I  heard, 

And  harder  to  withstand. 

You  cried — forbear — but  in  my  breast 

A  mightier  cried — proceed — 
'Twas  Nature,  sir,  whose  strong  behest 

Impelled  me  to  the  deed. 

Yet  much  as  nature  I  respect, 

I  ventured  once  to  break, 
(As  you  perhaps  may  recollect) 

Her  precept  for  your  sake  ; 

And  when  your  linnet  on  a  day, 

Passing  his  prison  door, 
Had  fluttered  all  his  strength  away, 

And  panting  pressed  the  floor, 

Well  knowing  him  a  sacred  thing, 

Not  destined  to  my  tooth, 
I  only  kissed  his  ruffled  wing, 

And  licked  the  feathers  smooth. 

Let  my  obedience  then  excuse 

My  disobedience  now, 
Nor  some  reproof  yourselves  refuse 

From  your  aggrieved  bow-wow ; 

If  killing  birds  be  such  a  crime, 

(Which  I  can  hardly  see,) 
What  think  you,  sir,  of  killing  Time 

With  verse  addressed  to  me  ? 


456  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


TO    MARY. 

THE  twentieth  year  is  well  nigh  past, 

Since  our  first  sky  was  overcast, 

Ah  would  that  this  might  be  the  last ! 

My  Mary ! 

Thy  spirits  have  a  fainter  flow, 

I  see  them  daily  weaker  grow 

'Twas  my  distress  that  brought  thee  low 

My  Mary ! 

Thy  needles,  once  a  shining  store, 
For  my  sake  restless  heretofore, 
Now  rust  disused,  and  shine  no  more, 

My  Mary ! 

For  though  thou  gladly  wouldst  fulfil 
The  same  kind  office  for  me  still, 
Thy  sight  now  seconds  not  thy  will, 

My  Mary ! 

But  well  thou  playd'st  the  housewife's  part. 
And  all  thy  threads  with  magic  art, 
Have  wound  themselves  about  this  heart,  ^ 

My  Mary ! 

Thy  indistinct  expressions  seem 
Like  language  uttered  in  a  dream  ; 
Yet  me  they  charm,  whatever  the  theme, 

My  Mary  I 

Thy  silver  locks  once  auburn  bright, 
Are  still  more  lovely  in  my  sight 
Than  golden  beams  of  orient  light, 

My  Mary ; 

For  could  I  view  nor  them  nor  thee, 
What  sight  worth  seeing  could  I  see  ? 
The  sun  would  rise  in  vain  for  me, 

My  Mary  ! 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS  457 

Partakers  of  thy  sad  decline, 
Thy  hands  their  little  force  resign  ; 
Yet  gently  prest,  press  gently  mine, 

My  Mary ! 

Such  feebleness  of  limbs  thou  prov'st, 
That  now  at  every  step  thou  mov'st, 
Upheld  by  two,  yet  still  thou  lov'st, 

My  Mary ! 

And  still  to  love,  though  prest  with  ill, 
In  wintry  age  to  feel  no  chill, 
With  me  is  to  be  lovely  still, 

My  Mary ! 

But  ah  !  by  constant  heed  I  know, 
How  oft  the  sadness  that  I  show, 
Transforms  thy  smiles  to  looks  of  wo, 

My  Mary ! 

And  should  my  future  lot  be  cast 
With  much  resemblance  of  the  past, 
Thy  worn-out  heart  will  break  at  last, 

My  Mary ! 


ON  THE  ICE  ISLANDS, 

SEEN    FLOATING   IN   THE    GERMAN   OCEAN. 

WHAT  portents,  from  that  distant  region,  ride, 
Unseen  till  now  in  ours,  the  astonished  tide  ? 
In  ages  past,  old  Proteus,  with  his  droves 
Of  seacalves,  sought  the  mountains  and  the  groves 
But  now,  descending  whence  of  late  they  stood, 
Themselves  the  mountains  seem  to  rove  the  flood. 
Dire  times  were  they,  full-charged  fwith  human  woes ; 
And  these,  scarce  less  calamitous  than  those. 
What  view  we  now  ?    More  wondrous  still  ?    Be 
hold! 


w>8  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

Like  burnished  brass  they  shine,  or  beaten  gold ; 
And  all  around  the  pearl's  pure  splendour  show, 
And  all  around  the  ruby's  fiery  glow. 
Come  they  from  India,  where  the  burning  earth, 
All  bounteous,  gives  her  richest  treasures  birth ; 
And  where  the  costly  gems,  that  beam  around 
The  brows  of  mightiest  potentates,  are  found  ? 
No.     Never  such  a  countless  dazzling  store 
Had  left,  unseen,  the  Ganges'  peopled  shore. 
Rapacious  hands,  and  ever-watchful  eyes, 
Should  sooner  far  have  marked  and  seized  the  prize. 
Whence  sprang  they  then  ?     Ejected  have  they  come 
From  VesVius7,  or  from  ^Etna's  burning  womb  ? 
rftius  shine  they  self-illumed,  or  but  display 
The  borrowed  splendours  of  a  cloudless  day  ? 
With  borrowed  beams  they  shine.     The  gales,  that 

breathe 

Now  landward,  and  the  current's  force  beneath, 
Have  borne  them  nearer :  and  the  nearer  sight, 
Advantaged  more,  contemplates  them  aright. 
Their  lofty  summits  crested  high,  they  show, 
With  mingled  sleet,  and  long-incumbent  snow. 
The  rest  is  ice.     Far  hence,  where  most  severe, 
Bleak  winter  well-nigh  saddens  all  the  year, 
Their  infant  growth'began.     He  bade  arise 
Their  uncouth  forms,  portentous  in  our  eyes. 
Oft  as  dissolved  by  transient  suns,  the  snow 
Left  the  tall  cliff,  to  join  the  flood  below  ; 
He  caught,  and  curdled  with  a  freezing  blast 
The  current,  ere  it  reached  the  boundless  waste. 
By  slow  degrees  uprose  the  wondrous  pile, 
And  long  successive  ages  rolled  the  while  ; 
Till,  ceaseless  in  its  growth,  it  claimed  to  stand, 
Tall  as  its  rival  mountains  on  the  land. 
Thus  stood,  and  unremoveable  by  skill, 
Or  force  of  man,  had  stood  the  structure  still ; 
But  that,  though  firmly  fixed,  supplanted  yet 
By  pressure  of  its  own  enormous  weight, 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  450 

It  left  the  shelving  beach — and,  with  a  sound 

That  shook  the  bellowing  waves  and  rocks  around 

Self-launched,  and  swiftly,  to  the  briny  wave, 

As  if  instinct  with  strong  desire  to  lave, 

Down  went  the  ponderous  mass.     So  bards  of  old, 

How  Delos  swam  th'  ^Egean  deep,  have  told. 

But  not  of  ice  was  Delos.     Delos  bore 

Herb,  fruit,  and  flower.     She,  crowned  with  laurel, 

wore, 

Even  under  wintry  skies,  a  summer  smile  ; 
And  Delos  was  Apollo's  favourite  isle. 
But,  horrid  wanderers  of  the  deep,  to  you, 
He  deems  Cimmerian  darkness  only  dew. 
Your  hated  birth  he  deigned  not  to  survey, 
But,  scornful,  turned  his  glorious  eyes  away. 
Hence  !  'seek  your  home,  nor  longer  rashly  dare 
The  darts  of  Phoebus,  and  a  softer  air ; 
Lest  ye  regret,  too  late,  your  native  coast, 
In  no  congenial  gulf  for  ever  lost ! 


THE  CASTAWAY. 

OBSCUREST  night  involved  the  sky ; 

Th*  Atlantic  billows  roared, 
When  such  a  destined  wretch  as  I, 

Washed  headlong  from  on  board, 
Of  friends,  of  hopes,  of  all  bereft, 
His  floating  home  for  ever  left. 

No  braver  chief  could  Albion  boast, 
Than  he,  with  whom  we  went, 

Nor  ever  ship  left  Albion's  coast 
With  warmer  wishes  sent. 

He  loved  them  both,  but  both  in  vain, 

Nor  him  beheld,  nor  her  again. 

Not  long  beneath  the  whelming  brine, 

Expert  to  swim  he  lay ; 
Nor  soon  he  felt  his  strength  decline, 


460  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

Or  courage  die  away  ; 
But  waged  with  death  a  lasting  strife, 
Supported  by  despair  of  life 

He  shouted ;  nor  his  friends  had  failed 
To  check  the  vessel's  course, 

But  so  the  furious  blast  prevailed, 
That,  pitiless,  perforce, 

They  left  their  outcast  mate  behind, 

And  scudded  stilt  before  the  wind. 

Some  succour  yet  they  could  afford  ; 

And,  such  as  storms  allow, 
The  cask,  the  coop,  the  floated  cord, 

Delayed  not  to  bestow  ; 
But  he  (they  knew)  nor  ship  nor  shore, 
Whatever  they  gave  should  visit  more. 

Nor,  cruel  as  it  seemed,  could  he, 
Their  haste  himself  condemn, 

Aware  that  flight,  in  such  a  sea, 
Alone  could  rescue  them ; 

Yet  bitter  felt  it  still  to  die 

Deserted,  and  his  friends  so  nigh. 

He  long  survives,  who  lives  an  hour 

In  ocean  self-upheld : 
And  so  long  he,  with  unspent  power 

His  destiny  repelled : 
And  ever  as  the  minutes  flew, 
Entreated  help,  or  cried — "  Adieu  !" 

At  length,  his  transient  respite  past, 

His  comrades,  who  before 
Had  heard  his  voice  in  every  blast, 

Could  catch  the  sound  no  more. 
For  then,  by  toil  subdued,  he  drank 
The  stifling  wave,  and  then. he  sank. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  461 

No  poet  wept  him  :  but  the  page 

Of  narrative  sincere, 
That  tells  his  name,  his  worth,  his  age, 

Is  wet  with  Anson's  tear. 
And  tears  by  bards  or  heroes  shed 
Alike  immortalize  the  dead. 

I  therefore  purpose  not,  or  dream, 

Descanting  on  his  fate, 
To  give  the  melancholy  theme 

A  more  enduring  date. 
But  misery  still  delights  to  trace 
It's  semblance  in  another's  case. 

No  voice  divine  the  storm  allayed 

No  light  propitious  shone ; 
When,  snatched  from  all  effectual  aid, 

We  perished  each  alone : 
But  I  beneath  a  rougher  sea, 
And  whelmed  in  deeper  gulfs  than  he. 


TRANSLATIONS   FROM  VINCENT  B  OURN& 

I.  THE  GLOW-WORM. 

BENEATH  the  hedge,  or  near  the  stream, 

A  worm  is  known  to  stray ; 
That  shows  by  night  a  lucid  beam, 

Which  disappears  by  day. 

Disputes  have  been,  and  still  prevail, 

From  whence  his  rays  proceed ; 
Some  give  that  honour  to  his  tail, 

And  others  to  his  head. 

But  this  is  sure — the  hand  of  night, 

That  kindles  up  the  skies, 
Qives  him  a  modicum  of  light 

Proportioned  to  his  size. 
>      39* 


462  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

Perhaps  indulgent  Nature  meant, 

By  such  a  lamp  bestowed, 
To  bid  the  traveller,  as  he  went, 

Be  careful  where  he  trod  : 

Nor  crush  a  worm,  whose  useful  light 
Might  serve,  however  small, 

To  show  a  stumbling  stone  by  night, 
And  save  him  from  a  fall. 

Whatever  she  meant,  this  truth  divine 

Is  legible  and  plain, 

7Tis  power  almighty  bids  him  shine, 
Nor  bids  him  shine  in  vain. 

Ye  proud  and  wealthy,  let  this  theme 
Teach  humbler  thoughts  to  you, 

Since  such  a  reptile  has  its  gem, 
And  boasts  its  splendour  too. 


II.  THE  JACKDAW. 

THERE  is  a  bird,  who  by  his  coat, 
And  by  the  hoarseness  of  his  note, 

Might  be  supposed  a  crow  ; 
A  great  frequenter  of  the  church, 
Where  bishop-like  he  finds  a  perch, 

And  dormitory  too. 

Above  the  steeple  shines  a  plate, 
That  turns  and  turns,  to  indicate 

From  what  point  blows  the  weather. 
Look  up — your  brains  begin  to  swim> 
'Tis  in  the  clouds — that  pleases  him. 

He  chooses  it  the  rather. 

Fond  of  the  speculative  height, 

Thither  he  wings  his  airy  flight 

And  thence  securely 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

The  bustle  and  the  rareeshow 
That  occupy  mankind  below 
Secure  and  at  his  ease. 

You  think,  no  doubt,  he  sits  and  muses 
On  future  broken  bones  and  bruises, 

If  he  should  chance  to  fall. 
No  ;  not  a  single  thought  like  that 
Employs  his  philosophic  pate, 

Or  troubles  it  at  all. 

He  sees  that  this  great  roundabout, 
The  world,  with  all  its  motley  rout, 

Church,  army,  physic,  law, 
Its  customs,  and  its  business, 
Is  no  concern  at  all  of  his. 

And  says — what  says  he  ?—  Caw. 

Thrice  happy  bird  !  I  too  have  seen 
Much  of  the  vanities  of  men  ; 

And,  sick  of  having  seen  'em, 
Would  cheerfully  these  limbs  resign 
For  such  a  pair  of  wings  as  thine, 

And  such  a  head  between  'em. 


III.  THE  CRICKET. 

LITTLE  inmate,  full  of  mirth, 
Chirping  on  my  kitchen  hearth, 
Wheresoe'er  be  thine  abode, 
Always  harbinger  of  good, 
Pay  me  for  thy  warm  retreat 
With  a  song  more  soft  and  sweet ; 
In  return  thou  shalt  receive 
Such  a  strain  as  I  can  give. 
Thus  thy  praise  shall  be  expressed, 
Inoffensive,  welcome  guest ! 
While  the  rat  is  on  the  scout, 


464  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

And  the  mouse  with  curious  snout, 
With  what  vermin  else  infest 
Every  dish,  and  spoil  the  best ; 
Frisking  thus  before  the  fire, . 
Thou  hast  all  thine  heart's  desire. 
Though  in  voice  and  shape  they  be 
Formed  as  if  akin  to  thee, 
Thou  surpasses!,  happier  far, 
Happiest  grasshoppers  that  are ; 
Their's  is  but  a  summer's  song, 
Thine  endures  the  winter  long, 
Unimpaired,  and  shrill,  and  clear, 
Melody  throughout  the  year. 
Neither  night,  nor  dawn  of  day, 
Puts  a  period  to  thy  play  : 
Sing  then — and  extend  thy  span 
Far  beyond  the  date  of  man. 
Wretched  man  whose  years  are  spent 
In  repining  discontent, 
Lives  not,  aged  though  he  be, 
Half  a  s^an,  compared  with  thee. 


IV.  THE  PARROT. 

IN  painted  plumes  superbly  dressed, 
A  native  of  the  gorgeous  east, 

By  many  a  billow  tossed, 
Poll  gains  at  length  the  British  shore^ 
Part  of  the  captain's  precious  store, 

A  present  to  his  toast. 

Belinda's  maids  are  soon  preferred, 
To  teach  him  now  and  then  a  word, 

As  Poll  can  master  it ; 
But  'tis  her  own  important  charge, 
To  qualify  him  more  at  large. 

And  make  him  quite  a  wit. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  466 

Sweet  Poll !  his  doating  mistress  cries, 
Sweet  Poll !  the  mimic  bird  replies ; 

And  calls  aloud  for  sack. 
She  next  instructs  him  in  the  kiss ; 
'Tis  now  a  little  one,  like  Miss, 

And  now  a  hearty  smack. 

At  first  he  aims  at  what  he  hears ; 
And  listening  close  with  both  his  ears, 

Just  catches  at  the  sound ; 
But  soon  articulates  aloud, 
Much  to  th*  amusement  of  the  crowd, 

And  stuns  the  neighbours  round. 

A  querulous  old  woman's  voice 
His  humorous  talent  next  employs ; 

He  scolds,  and  gives  the  lie. 
And  now  he  sings,  and  now  is  sick, 
Here,  Sally,  Susan,  come,  come  quick, 

Poor  Poll  is  like  to  die  ! 

Belinda  and  her  bird  !  'tis  rare 

To  meet  with  such  a  well-matched  pair. 

The  language  and  the  tone, 
Each  character  in  every  part 
Sustained  with  so  much  grace  and  art, 

And  both  in  unison. 

When  children  first  begin  to  spell, 
And  stammer  out  a  syllable, 

We  think  them  tedious  creatures ; 
But  difficulties  soon  abate, 
When  birds  are  to  be  taught  to  prate, 

And  women  are  the  teachers. 


V.    THE    THRACIAN. 

THRACIAN  parents,  at  his  birth, 
Mourn  their  babe  with  many  a  tear, 


466  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

But  with  undissembled  mirth 
Place  him  breathless  on  his  bier. 

Greece  and  Rome.  with,  equal  scorn, 

1 0  the  savages  !'  exclaim, 
*  Whether  they  rejoice  or  mourn. 

Well  entitled  to  the  name  !' 

But  the  cause  of  this  concern, 
And  this  pleasure  would  they  trace, 

Even  they  might  somewhat  learn 
From  the  savages  of  Thrace. 


VI.  RECIPROCAL  KINDNESS. 

THE    PRIMARY    LAW    OF   NATURE. 

ANDROCLES  from  his  injured  lord,  in  dread 
Of  instant  death,  to  Libya's  desert  fled. 
Tired  with  his  toilsome  flight,  and  parched  with  heat, 
He  spied,  at  length,  a  cavern's  cool  retreat ; 
But  scarce  had  given  to  rest  his  weary  frame 
When  hugest  of  his  kind,  a  lion  came  : 
He  roared  approaching:  but  the  savage  din 
To  plaintive  murmurs  changed,  arrived  within, 
And  with  expressive  looks  his  lifted  paw 
Presenting,  aid  implored  from  whom  he  saw. 
The  fugitive,  through  terror  at  a  stand, 
Dared  not  awhile  afford  his  trembling  hand, 
But  bolder  grown,  at  length  inherent  found 
A  pointed  thorn,  and  drew  it  from  the  wound. 
The  cure  was  wrought ;  he  wiped  the  sanious  blood, 
And  firm  and  free  from  pain  the  lion  stood, 
Again  he  seeks  the  wilds,  and  day  by  day, 
Regales  his  inmate  with  the  parted  prey. 
Nor  he  disdains  the  dole,  though  unprepared, 
Spread  on  the  ground,  and  with  a  lion  shared. 
But  thus  to  live  —still  lost — sequestered  still- 
Scarce  seemed  his  lord's  revenge  a  heavier  ill. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  467 

Home  !  native  home  !  O  might  he  but  repair  ! 

He  must — he  will,  though  death  attends  him  there. 

He  goes,  and  doomed  to  perish,  on  the  sands 

Of  the  full  theatre  unpitied  stands : 

When  lo  !  the  self-same  lion  from  his  cage 

Flies  to  devour  him,  famished  into  rage. 

He  flies,  but  viewing  in  his  purposed  prey 

The  man,  his  healer,  pauses  on  his  way, 

And  softened  by  remembrance  into  sweet 

And  kind  composure,  crouches  at  his  feet 

Mute  with  astonishment  th'  assembly  gaze  : 
But  why,  ye  Romans  ?     Whence  your  mute  amaze  ? 
All  this  is  natural — nature  bade  him  rend 
An  enemy ;  she  bids  him  spare  a  friend. 


VII.    A    MANUAL. 

More  ancient  than  the  Art  of  Printing,  and  not  to  be  found  in  arij  Catalogue. 

THERE  is  a  book,  which  we  may  call 

(Its  excellence  is  such) 
Alone  a  library,  though  small ; 

The  ladies  thumb  it  much. 

Words  none,  things  numerous  it  contains: 
And,  things  with  words  compared, 

Who  needs  be  told,  that  has  his  brains, 
Which  merits  most  regard  ? 

Ofttimes  its  leaves  of  scarlet  hue 

A  golden  edging  boast ; 
And  opened,  it  displays  to  view 

Twelve  pages  at  the  most. 

Nor  name,  nor  title,  stamped  behind, 

Adorns  his  outer  part ; 
But  all  within  'tis  richly  lined, 

A  magazine  of  art. 


468  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

The  whitest  hands  that  secret  hoard 

Oft  visit :  and  the  fair 
Preserve  it  In  their  bosoms  stored, 

As  with  a  miser's  care. 

Thence  implements  of  every  size, 

And  formed  for  various  use, 
(They  need  but  to  consult  their  eyes) 

They  readily  produce. 

The  largest  and  the  longest  kind 

Possess  the  foremost  page, 
A  sort  most  needed  by  the  blind, 

Or  nearly  such  from  age. 

The  full-charged  leaf,  which  next  ensues, 

Presents,  in  bright  array, 
The  smaller  sort,  which  matrons  use, 

Not  quite  so  blind  as  they. 

The  third,  the  fourth,  the  fifth  supply 

What  their  occasions  ask, 
Who  with  a  more  discerning  eye 

Perform  a  nicer  task. 

But  still  with  regular  decrease 

From  size  to  size  they  fall, 
In  every  leaf  grow  less  and  less , 

The  last  are  least  of  all. 

O  !  what  a  fund  of  genius,  pent 

In  narrow  space,  is  here  ! 
This  volume's  method  and  intent 

How  luminous  and  clear  ! 

It  leaves  no  reader  at  a  loss 

Or  posed,  whoever  reads  : 
No  commentator's  tedious  gloss, 

Nor  even  index  needs. 

Search  Bodley's  many  thousands  o'er, 
Nor  book  is  treasured  ttere, 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

Nor  yet  in  Granta's  numerous  store, 
That  may  with  this  compare. 

No  !  Rival  none  in  either  host 

Of  this  was  ever  seen, 
Or,  that  contents  could  justlv  boast, 

So  brilliant  and  so  keen. 


VIII.    AN  ENIGMA. 

A  NEEDLE  small  as  small  can  be, 
In  bulk  and  use  surpasses  me, 

Nor  is  my  purchase  dear  ; 
For  little,  and  almost  for  naught, 
As  many  of  my  kind  are  bought 

As  days  are  in  the  year. 

Yet  though  but  little  use  we  boast, 
And  are  procured  at  little  cost, 

The  labour  is  not  light, 
Nor  few  artificers  it  asks, 
All  skilful  in  their  several  tasks, 

To  fashion  us  aright. 

One  fuses  metal  o'er  the  fire, 
A  second  draws  it  into  wire, 

The  shears  another  plies, 
Who  clips  in  lengths  the  brazen  thread, 
For  him,  who,  chafing  every  thread, 

Gives  all  an  equal  size. 

A  fifth  prepares,  exact  and  round, 

The  knob  with  which  it  must  be  crowned; 

His  follower  makes  it  fast : 
And  with  his  mallet  and  his  file 
To  shape  the  point  employs  awhile 

The  seventh  and  the  last. 

Now,  therefore,  (Edipus  !  declare 
What  creature,  wonder  fill  and  rare, 
40 


470  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

A  process  that  obtains 
Its  purpose  with  so  much  ado, 
At  last  produces  ! — tell  me  true, 

And  take  me  for  your  pains  ! 


IX.     SPARROWS  SELF-DOMESTICATED 

IN   TRINITY    COLLEGE,    CAMBRIDGE. 

NONE  ever  shared  the  social  feast, 

Or  as  an  inmate  or  a  guest, 

Beneath  the  celebrated  dome, 

Where  once  Sir  Isaac  had  his  home, 

Who  saw  not  (and  with  some  delight 

Perhaps  he  viewed  the  novel  sight) 

How  numerous,  at  the  tables  there, 

The  sparrows  beg  their  daily  fare 

For  there,  in  every  nook  and  cell, 

Where  such  a  family  may  dwell, 

Sure  as  the  vernal  season  comes 

Their  nests  they  weave  in  hope  of  crumbs, 

Which  kindly  given,  may  serve,  with 

Convenient,  their  unfeathered  brood  ; 

And  oft  as  with  its  summons  clear, 

The  warning  bell  salutes  the  ear, 

Sagacious  listeners  to  the  sound, 

They  flock  from  all  the  fields  around, 

To  reach  the  hospitable  hall, 

None  more  attentive  to  the  call, 

Arrived,  the  pensionary  band, 

Hopping  and  chirping,  close  at  hand, 

Solicit  what  they  soon  receive, 

The  sprinkled,  plenteous  donative. 

Thus  is  a  multitude,  though  large, 

Supported  at  a  trivial  charge  ; 

A  single  doit  would  overpay 

Th'  expenditure  of  every  day, 

And  who  can  grudge  so  small  a  grace 

To  supplia  its,  natives  of  the  place 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  471 


X.  FAMILIARITY  DANGEROUS. 

As  in  her  ancient  mistress'  lap 

The  youthful  tabby  lay, 
They  gave  each  other  many  a  tap, 

Alike  disposed  to  play. 

But  strife  ensues.     Puss  waxes  warm, 

And  with  protuded  claws 
Ploughs  all  the  length  of  Lydia's  arm, 

Mere  wantonness  the  cause. 

At  once,  resentful  of  the  deed, 
She  shakes  her  to  the  ground, 

With  many  a  threat  that  she  shall  bleed 
With  still  a  deeper  wound. 

But,  Lydia,  bid  thy  fury  rest ; 

It  was  a  venial  stroke ; 
For  she  that  will  with  kittens  jest, 

Should  bear  a  kitten's  joke. 


XL  INVITATION  TO  THE  REDBREAST. 

SWEET  bird,  whom  the  winter  constrains — 

And  seldom  another  it  can — 
To  seek  a  retreat,  while  he  reigns, 

In  the  well  sheltered  dwellings  of  man* 
Who  never  can  seem  to  intrude, 

Tho'  in  all  places  equally  free, 
Come,  oft  as  the  season  is  rude 

Thou  art  sure  to  be  welcome  to  me. 

At  sight  of  the  first  feeble  ray, 

That  pierces  the  clouds  of  the  east, 

To  inveigle  thee  every  day 

My  windows  shall  show  thee  a  feast 


473  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 

For,  taught  by  experience,  I  know 
Thee  mindful  of  benefit  long; 

And  that,  thankful  for  all  I  bestow, 
Thou  wilt  pay  me  with  many  a  song. 

Then,  soon  as  the  swell  of  the  buds 

Bespeaks  the  renewal  of  spring, 
Fly  hence,  if  thou  wilt,  to  the  woods, 

Or  where  it  shall  please  thee  to  sing : 
And  shouldst  thou,  compelled  by  a  frost, 

Come  again  to  my  window  or  door, 
Doubt  not  an  affectionate  host, 

Only  pay  as  thou  pay'dst  me  before. 

Thus  music  must  needs  be  confest, 

To  flow  from  a  fountain  above ; 
Else  how  should  it  work  in  the  breast 

Unchangeable  friendship  and  love  ! 
And  who  on  the  globe  can  be  found, 

Save  your  generation  and  ours, 
That  can  be  delighted  by  sound, 

Or  boasts  any  musical  powers  ? 


XII.    STRADA'S  NIGHTINGALE. 

THE  Shepherd  touched  his  reed  ;  sweet  Philomel 
Essayed,  and  oft  assayed  to  catch  the  strain, 

And  treasuring,  as  on  her  ear  they  fell, 
The  numbers,  echoed  note  foi*  note  again. 

The  peevish  youth,  who  ne'er  had  found  before 
A  rival  of  his  skill,  indignant  heard, 

And  soon,  (for  various  was  his  store) 
In  loftier  tones  defied  the  simple  bird. 

She  dared  the  task,  and  rising,  as  he  rose, 

With  all  the  force,  that  passion  gives,  inspired, 

Returned  the  sounds  awhile,  but  in  the  close, 
Exhausted  fell,  and  at  his  feet  expired. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  473 

Thus  stiength,  not  skill,  prevailed.     O  fatal  strife^ 
By  thee,  poor  songstress,  playfully  begun ; 

And,  O  sad  victory,  which  cost  thy  life, 
And  he  may  wish  that  he  had  never  won ! 


XIII.   ODE 

Olf    THE    DEATH   OP   A   LADY, 
Wl  3  lived  one  hundred  years,  and  died  on  her  birthday  179& 

ANCIENT  dame  how  wide  and  vast, 

To  a  race  like  ours  appears, 
Rounded  to  an  orb  at  last, 

All  thy  multitude  of  years  ! 

We,  the  herd  of  human  kind, 

Frailer  and  of  feebler  powers  ; 
We,  to  narrow  bounds  confined, 

Soon  exhaust  the  sum  of  ours. 

Death's  delicious  banquet — we 

Perish  even  from  the  womb, 
Swifter  than  a  shadow  flee, 

Nourished  but  to  feed  the  tomb. 

Seeds  of  merciless  disease 

Lurk  in  all  that  we  enjoy ; 
Some,  that  waste  us  by  degrees, 

Some,  that  suddenly  destroy. 

And  if  life  o'erleap  the  bourne 

Common  to  the  sons  of  men ; 
What  remains,  but  that  we  mourn, 

Dream,  and  doat,  and  drivel  then  ? 

Fast  as  moons  can  wax  and  wane, 
Sorrow  comes ;  and  while  we  groan, 

Pant  with  anguish  and  complain, 
Half  our  years  are  fled  and  gone. 
40* 


474  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

If  a  few,  (to  few  tis  'given) 

Lingering  on  this  earthly  stage, 

Creep,  and  halt,  with  steps  uneven, 
To  the  period  of  an  age. 

Wherefore  live  they  but  to  see 
Cunning,  arrogance,  and  force, 

Sights  lamented  much  by  thee, 
Holding  their  accustomed  course  ! 

Oft  was  seen,  in  ages  past, 
All  that  we  with  wonder  view 

Often  shall  be  to  the  last ; 
Earth  produces  nothing  new. 

Thee  we  gratulate ;  content, 

Should  propitious  Heaven  design 

Life  for  us,  has  calmly  spent, 

Though  but  half  the  length  of  thine. 


XIV.  THE  CAUSE  WON. 

Two  neighbours  furiously  dispute  : 
A  field — the  subject  of  the  suit. 
Trivial  the  spot,  yet  such  the  rage 
With  which  the  combatants  engage, 
'Twere  hard  to  tell,  who  covets  most 
The  prize — at  whatsoever  cost. 
The  pleadings  swell.     Words  still  suffice ; 
No  single  word  but  has  its  price  : 
No  term  but  yields  some  fair  pretence 
For  novel  and  increased  expense. 

Defendant  thus  becomes  a  name, 
Which  he  that  bore  it,  may  disclaim ; 
Since  both,  in  one  description  blended 
Are  plaintiffs — when  the  suit  is  ended. 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  475 


XV.  THE  SILKWORM. 

THE  beams  of  April,  ere  it  goes, 

A  worm  scarce  visible,  disclose ; 

All  winter  long  content  to  dwell 

The  tenant  of  his  native  shell. 

The  same  prolific  season  gives 

The  sustenance  by  which  he  lives, 

The  mulberry  leaf,  a  simple  store, 

That  serves  him — till  he  needs  no  more; 

For,  his  dimensions  once  complete, 

Thenceforth  none  ever  sees  him  eat; 

Though,  till  his  growing  time  be  past, 

Scarce  ever  is  he  seen  to  fast. 

That  hour  arrived,  his  work  begins, 

He  spins  and  weaves,  arid  weaves  and  spins ; 

Till  circle  upon  circle  wound 

Careless  around  him  and  around, 

Conceales  him  witli  a  veil,  though  slight, 

Impervious  to  the  keenest  sight. 

Thus  self -inclosed,  as  in  a  cask, 

At  length  he  finishes  his  task : 

And,  though  a  worm,  when  he  was  lost, 

Or  caterpillar  at  the  most, 

When  next  we  see  him  wings  he  wears, 

And  in  papilio-pomp  appears  ; 

Becomes  oviparous,  supplies 

With  future  worms  and  future  flies 

The  next  ensuing  year  ;  and  dies  ! 

Well  were  it  for  the  world,  if  all, 

Who  creep  about  this  earthly  bail, 

Though  shorter-lived  than  most  he  be, 

Were  useful  in  their  kind  as  he. 


476  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


XVI.  THE  INNOCENT  THIEF. 

NOT  a  flower  can  be  found  in  the  fields, 
Or  the  spot  that  we  till  for  our  pleasure, 

From  the  largest  to  least,  but  it  yields 
To  the  bee,  never- wearied,  a  treasure. 

Scarce  any  she  quits  unexplored, 

With  a  diligence  truly  exact ; 
Yet,  steal  what  she  may  for  her  hoard, 

Leaves  evidence  none  of  the  fact. 

Her  lucrative  task  she  pursues, 
And  pilfers  with  so  much  address, 

That  none  of  their  odour  they  lose, 
Nor  charm  by  their  beauty  the  less. 

Not  thus  inoffensively  preys 

The  canker-worm,  indwelling  foe  ! 

His  voracity  not  thus  allays 

The  sparrow,  the  finch,  or  the  crow. 

The  worm,  more  expensively  fed, 
The  pride  of  the  garden  devours  ; 

And  birds  pick  the  seed  from  the  bed, 
Still  less  to  be  spared  than  the  flowers. 

But  she  with  such  delicate  skill 

Her  pillage  so  fits  for  her  use, 
That  the  chymist  in  vain  with  his  still 

Would  labour  the  like  to  produce. 

Then  grudge  not  her  temperate  meals, 
Nor  a  benefit  blame  as  a  theft ; 

Since,  stole  she  not  all  that  she  steals, 
Neither  honey  nor  wax  would  be  left 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  477 


XVII.    DENNER'S  OLD  WOMAN. 

IN  this  mimic  form  of  a  matron  in  years, 
How  plainly  the  pencil  of  Denner  appears  ! 
The  matron  herself,  in  whose  old  age  we  see 
Not  a  trace  of  decline,  what  a  wonder  is  she  ! 
No  dimness  of  eye,  and  no  cheek  hanging  low, 
No  wrinkle,  or  deep-furrowed  frown  on  the  brow ! 
Her  forehead  indeed  is  here  circled  around 
With  locks  like  the  ribbon,  with  which  they  are 

bound  ; 

While  glossy  and  smooth,  and  as  soft  as  the  skin 
Of  a  delicate  peach,  is  the  down  of  her  chin  j 
But  nothing  unpleasant,  or  sad,  or  severe. 
Or  that  indicates  life  in  its  winter— is  here. 
Yet  all  is  expressed,  with  fidelity  due, 
Nor  a  pimple,  or  freckle  concealed  from  the  view. 

Many  fond  of  new  sights,  or  who  cherish  a  taste 
For  the  labours  of  art,  to  the  spectacle  haste  : 
The  youths  all  agree,  that  could  old  age  inspire 
The  passion  of  love,  hers  would  kindle  the  fire, 
And  the  matrons,  with  pleasure,  confess  that  they  see 
Ridiculous  nothing  or  hideous  in  thee. 
The  nymphs  for  themselves  scarcely  hope  a  decline, 
O  wonderful  woman  !  as  placid  as  thine. 

Strange  magic  of  art !  which  the  youth  can  engage 
To  peruse,  half -enamoured,  the  features  of  age  ; 
And  force  from  the  virgin  a  sigh  of  despair, 
That  she  when  as  old,  shall  be  equally  fair  ! 
How  great  is  the  glory,  that  Denner  has  gained, 
Since  Apelles  not  more  for  his  Venus  obtained  ! 


XVIII.    THE  TEAKS  OF  A  PAINTER. 

APELLES,  hearing  that  his  boy 
Had  just  expired— his  only  joy  ! 


478  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

Although  the  sight  with  anguish  tore  him, 
Bade  place  his  dear  remains  before  him. 
He  seized  his  brush,  his  colours  spread ; 
And — "  Oh  !  my  child,  accept," — he  said, 
"  (?Tis  all  that  I  can  now  bestow,) 
This  tribute  of  a  father's  wo  !" 
Then,  faithful  to  the  twofold  part, 
Both  of  his  feelings  and  his  art, 
He  closed  his  eyes,  with  tender  care, 
And  formed  at  once  a  fellow  pair. 
His  brow,  with  amber  locks  beset, 
And  lips  he  drew,  not  livid  yet ; 
And  shaded  all,  that  he  had  done, 
To  a  just  image  of  his  son. 

Thus  far  is  well.     But  view  again, 
The  cause  of  thy  paternal  pain ! 
Thy  melancholy  task  fulfil  ! 
It  needs  the  last,  last  touches  still. 
Again  his  pencil's  power  he  tries, 
For  on  his  lips  a  smile  he  spies : 
And  still  his  cheek,  unfaded,  shows 
The  deepest  damask  of  the  rose. 
Then,  heedless  to  the  finished  whole, 
With  fondest  eagerness  he  stole, 
Till  scarce  himself  distinctly  knew 
The  cherub  copied  from  the  true. 

Now,  painter,  cease  !  thy  task  is  done, 
Long  lives  this  image  of  thy  son ; 
Nor  shortlived  shall  the  glory  prove, 
Or  of  thy  labour,  or  thy  love. 


XIX.    THE  MAZE. 

PROM  right  to  left,  and  to  and  fro 
Caught  in  a  labyrinth,  you  go, 
And  turn,  and  turn,  and  turn  again, 
To  solve  the  mystery,  but  in  vain  ; 
Stand  still  and  breathe,  and  take  from  me 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  47$ 

A  clew  that  soon  shall  set  you  free  ! 
Not  Ariadne,  if  you  meet  her, 
Herself  could  serve  you  with  a  better. 
You  entered  easily — find  where — 
And  make  with  ease,  your  exit  there  ! 


XX.  NO  SORROW  PECULIAR  TO  THHJ 
SUFFERER. 

THE  lover,  in  melodious  verses 
His  singular  distress  rehearses. 
Still  closing  with  a  rueful  cry, 
"  Was  ever  such  a  wretch  as  I  ln 
Yes  !  thousands  have  endured  before 
All  thy  distress  ;  some,  haply,  more.     . 
Unnumbered  Corydons  complain, 
And  Strephons,  of  the  like  disdain ; 
And  if  thy  Chloe  be  of  steel, 
Too  deaf  to  hear,  too  hard  to  feel ; 
Not  her  alone  that  censure  fits, 
Nor  thou  alone  hast  lost  thy  wits. 


XXI.     THE  SNAIL. 

To  grass,  or  leaf,  or  fruit,  or  wall, 
The  snail  sticks  close,  nor  fears  to  fall, 
As  if  he  grew  there,  house  and  all 

Together. 

Within  that  house  secure  he  hides, 
When  danger  imminent  betides 
Of  storm,  or  other  harm  besides 

Of  weather. 

Give  but  his  horns  the  slightest  touch, 
His  self-collecting  power  is  such, 
He  shrinks  into  his  house  with  much 

Displeasure. 


480  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

Wherever  he  dwells,  he  dwells  alone, 
Except  himself  has  chattels  none, 
Well  satisfied  to  be  his  own 

Whole  treasure. 

Thus,  ,hermit-like,  his  life  he  leads, 
Nor  partner  of  his  banquet  needs, 
And  if  he  meets  one,  only  feeds 

The  faster. 

Who  seeks  him  must  be  worse  than  blind, 
(He  and  his  house  are  so  combined) 
If  finding  it,  he  fails  to  find 

Its  master. 


THE  CONTRITE  HEART. 

THE  Lord  will  happiness  divine 

On  contrite  hearts  bestow ; 
Then  tell  me,  Gracious  God,  is  mine 

A  contrite  heart  or  no  ? 

I  hear,  but  seem  to  hear  in  vain, 

Insensible  as  steel ; 
If  aught  is  felt,  'tis  only  pain 

To  find  I  cannot  feel. 

I  sometimes  think  myself  inclined 

To  love  thee,  if  I  could ; 
But  often  feel  another  mind, 

Averse  to  all  that's  good. 

My  best  desires  are  faint  and  few, 
I  fain  would  strive  for  more  ; 

But  when  I  cry,  "  My  strength,  renew,'4 
Seem  weaker  than  before. 

I  see  thy  saints  with  comfort  filled, 
When  in  thy  house  of  prayer ; 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  4§1 

But  still  in  bondage  I  am  held, 
And  find  no  comfort  there. 

Oh,  make  this  heart  rejoice  or  ache ; 

Decide  this  doubt  for  me ; 
And  if  it  be  not  broken,  break, 

And  heal  it  if  it  be. 


THE  SHINING  LIGHT. 

MY  former  hopes  are  dead ; 

My  terror  now  begins  ; 
I  feel,  alas  !  that  I  am  dead 

In  trespasses  and  sins. 

Ah,  whither  shall  I  fly  ? 

I  hear  the  thunder  roar ; 
The  law  proclaims  destruction  nigh. 

And  vengeance  at  the  door. 

When  I  review  my  ways, 
I  dread  impending  doom ; 

But  sure  a  friendly  whisper  says, 
"  Flee  from  the  wrath  to  come." 

I  see,  or  think  I  see, 

A  glimmering  from  afar ; 

A  beam  of  day  that  shines  for  me, 
To  save  me  from  despair. 

Forerunner  of  the  sun, 
It  marks  the  pilgrim's  way  ; 

I'll  gaze  upon  it  while  I  run, 
And  watch  the  rising  day. 


THIRSTING  FOR  GOD. 

I  THIRST,  but  not  as  once  I  did, 
The  vain  delights  of  earth  to  share; 
41 


482  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

Thy  words,  Immanuel,  all  forbid 

That  I  should  seek  my  pleasure  there. 

It  was  the  sight  of  thy  dear  cross 

First  weaned  my  soul  from  earthly  things, 
And  taught  me  to  esteem  as  dross 

The  mirth  of  fools  and  pomp  of  kings. 

I  want  that  grace  that  springs  from  thee, 
That  quickens  all  things  where  it  flows, 

And  makes  a  wretched  thorn  like  me, 
Bloom  as  the  myrtle  or  the  rose. 

Dear  fountain  of  delight  unknown, 
No  longer  sink  below  the  brim : 

But  overflow  and  pour  me  down 
A  living  and  life-giving  stream. 

For  sure,  of  all  the  plants  that  share 
The  notice  of  thy  Father's  eye, 

None  proves  less  grateful  to  his  care, 
Or  yields  him  meaner  fruit  than  L 


A  TALE.* 

IN  Scotland's  realm  where  trees  are  few, 

Nor  even  shrubs  abound ; 
But  where,  however  bleak  the  view, 

Some  better  things  are  found. 

For  husband  there  and  wife  may  boast 
Their  union  undefiled, 

*  This  tale  is  founded  on  an  article  of  intelligence  which  the  author 
found  in  the  Buckinghamshire  Herald  for  Saturday,  June  1,  1793,  in  the 
following  words  :— 

Glasgow,  May  23. 

In  a  block,  or  pulley,  near  the  head  of  the  mast  of  a  gabert  now  Iv- 
ing  at  the  Broomielaw,  there  is  a  chaffinch's  nest  and  four  eggs.  The 
nest  was  built  while  the  vessel  lay  at  Green9ck,  and  was  followed  hither 
by  both  birds.  Though  the  block  is  occasionally  lowered  for  the  in- 
ppection  of  the  curious,  the  birds  have  not  forsaken  the  nest.  The  cook, 
however,  visits  the  nest  but  seldom,  while  the  hen  never  leaves  it  but. 
when  she  descends  to  the  hull  for  food. 


MISCELLANEOUS   PDEMS. 

And  false  ones  are  as  rare  almost 
As  hedge-rows  in  the  wild. 

In  Scotland's  realm,  forlorn  and  bare, 
The  history  chanced  of  late — 

The  history  of  a  wedded  pair, 
A  chaffinch  and  his  mate. 

The  spring  drew  near,  each  felt  a  breast 

With  genial  instinct  filled  ; 
They  paired,  arid  would  have  built  a  nest, 

But  found  not  where  to  build. 

The  heath  uncovered,  and  the  moors, 

Except  with  snow  and  sleet, 
Sea-beaten  rocks,  and  naked  shores 

Could  yield  them  no  retreat. 

Long  time  a  breeding  place  they  sought, 
Till  both  grew  vexed  and  tired  ; 

At  length  a  ship  arriving,  brought 
The  good  so  long  desired 

A  ship  ! — could  such  a  restless  thing 

Afford  them  place  of  rest  / 
Or  was  the  merchant  charged  to  bring 

The  homeless  birds  a  nest? 

Hush — Silent  hearers  profit  most — 

This  racer  of  the  sea 
Proved  kinder  to  them  than  the  coast 

It  served  them  with  a  tree. 

But  such  a  tree  !  'twas  shaven  deal, 

The  tree  they  call  a  mast, 
And  had  a  hollow  with  a  wheel 

Through  which  the  tackle  passed. 

Within  that  cavity  aloft, 

Their  roofless  home  they  fixed. 


484  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 

Formed  with  materials  neat  and  soft, 
Bents,  wool,  and  feathers  mixt. 

Four  ivory  eggs  soon  pave  its  floor, 
With  russet  specks  bedight — 

The  vessel  weighs,  forsakes  the  shore, 
And  lessens  to  the  sight. 

The  mother-bird  is  gone  to  sea, 
As  she  had  changed  her  kind  ; 

But  goes  the  male  ?  Far  wiser,  he 
Is  doubtless  left  behind  ? 

No — soon  as  from  ashore  he  saw 
The  winged  mansion  move, 

He  flew  to  reach  it,  by  a  law 
Of  never-failing  love. 

Then  perching  at  his  consort's  side, 

Was  briskly  borne  along, 
The  billows  and  the  blast  defied, 

And  cheered  her  with  a  song : 

The  seaman  with  sincere  delight 
His  feathered  shipmates  eyes, 

•Scarce  less  exulting  in  the  sight 
Than  when  he  tows  a  prize. 

For  seamen  much  believe  in  signs, 

And  for  a  chance  so  new, 
Each  some  approaching  good  divines, 

And  may  his  hopes  be^true ! 

Hail,  honoured  land  !  A  desert  where 

Not  even  birds  can  hide, 
Yet  parent  of  this  loving  pair 

Whom  nothing  could  divide. 

And  ye  who,  rather  than  resign 
Your  matrimonial  plan, 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  435 

Wert.  not  afraid  to  plough  the  brine 
In  company  with  man. 

For  whose  lean  country  much  disdain 

We  English  often  show. 
Yet  from  a  richer  nothing  gain 

But  wantonness  and  wo. 

Be  it  your  fortune,  year  by  year, 

The  same  resource  to  prove, 
4nd  may  ye^  sometimes  landing  here, 

Instruct  us  how  to  love  ! 


SONG  ON  PEACE. 

Air—"  My  fond  shepherds  of  late,"  Ac. 

•»  4, 

No  longer  I  follow  a  sound  ; 
No  longer  a  dream  I  pursue  ; 

0  Happiness  !  not  to  be  found, 
Unattainable  treasure,  adieu ! 

1  have  sought  thee  in  splendour  and  dress, 

In  the  regions  of  pleasure  and  taste  ; 

I  have  sought  thee,  and  seem'd.to  possess, 

But  have  proved  thee  a  vision  at  last. 

An  humble  ambition  and  hope 

The  voice  of  true  Wisdom  inspires ; 

'Tis  sufficient,  if  Peace  be  the  scope 
And  the  summit  of  all  our  desires. 

Peace  may  be  the  lot  of  the  mind 
That  seeks  it  in  meekness  arid  love ; 

But  rapture  and  bliss  are  confined 
To  the  glorified  spirits  above. 

41* 


4Sb  MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 


SONNET  TO  JOHN  JOHNSON, 

OH   HIS   PRESENTING   ME    WITH    AN   ANTI4UE   BUST  OF   HOMEB 
1793. 

KINSMAN  beloved,  and  as  a  son,  by  me ! 
When  I  behold  this  fruit  of  thy  regard, 
The  sculpured  form  of  my  old  favourite  bard, 

v  reverence  feel  for  him,  and  love  for  thee. 

.Toy  too  and  grief.     Much  Joy  that  there  should  be 
Wise  men  and  learn'd,  who  grudge  not  to  reward 
With  some  applause,  my  bold  attempt  and  hard, 

Which  others  scorn  :  critics  by  courtesy. 

The  grief  is  this,  that  sunk  in  Homer's  mine, 
I  lose  my  precious  years  now  soon  to  fail, 

Handling  his  gold,  which  howsoe'er  it  shine, 

Proves  dross,  when  balanced  in  the  Christian  scale* 

Be  ^ser  thou — like  our  forefather  DONNE, 

Seek  heavenly  wealth,  and  work  for  God  alone. 


INSCRIPTION  FOR  A  STONE 

ERECTED   AT   THE   SOWING   OP   A   GROVE   OF   OAKS   AT  CHILLING- 
TON,    THE    SEAT   OF   T.    GILFORD,   ESQ.    1790. 

OTHER  stones  the  era  tell, 
When  some  feeble  mortal  fell ; 
1  stand  here  to  date  the  birth 
Of  these  hardy  sons  of  earth. 

Which  shall  longest  brave  the  sky. 
Storm  or  frost— these  oaks  or  I  ? 
Pass  an  age  or  two  away, 
I  must  moulder  arid  decay  ; 
But  the  years  that  crumble  me 
Shall  invigorate  the  tree, 
Spread  its  branch,  dilate  its  size, 
Lift  its  summit  to  the  skies. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS. 

Cherish  honour,  virtue,  truth, 
So  shalt  thou  prolong  thy  youth,      t 
Wanting  these,  however  fast 
Man  be  fix'd,  and  formed  to  last, 
He  is  lifeless  even  now, 
Stone  at  heart,  and  cannot  grow. 


LOVE   ABUSED. 

WHAT  is  there  in  the  vale  of  life 
Half  so  delightful  as  a  wife, 
When  friendship,  love,  and  peace  combine 
To  stamp  the  marriage-bond  divine? 
The  stream  of  pure  arid  genuine  love 
Derives  its  current  from  above : 
Arid  earth  a  second  Eden  shows 
Where'er  the  healing  water  flows  : 
But  ah  !  if  from  the  dykes  and  drains 
Of  sensual  nature's  feverish  veins, 
Lust,  like  a  lawless  headstrong  flood, 
Impregnated  with  ooze  and  mud, 
Descending  fast  on  every  side, 
Once  mingles  with  the  sacred  tide, 
Farewell  the  soul-enlivening  scene  ! 
The  banks  that  wore  a  smiling  green, 
With  rank  defilement  overspread, 
Bewail  their  flowery  beauties  dead, 
The  stream  polluted,  dark,  and  dull, 
Diffused  into  a  Stygian  pool, 
Through  life's  last  melancholy  years 
Is  fed  with  ever-flowing  tears  : 
Complaints  supply  the  zephyr's  part, 
And  sighs  that  heave  a  breaking  hean. 


438  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


LINES 

COMPOSED   FOR     A    MEMORIAL    OF     ASHLY   COWPER,    ESQ.    IMME- 
DIATELY   AFTER    HIS     DEATH,    BY     HIS   NEPHEW     WILLIAM,    O? 

WESTON.      JUNE,    1788. 

FAREWELL  !  endued  with  all  that  could  engage 
All  hearts  to  love  thee,  both  in  youth  and  age  ! 
In  prime  of  life,  for  sprightliness  enrolled 
Among  the  gay,  yet  virtuous  as  the  old ; 

In  life's  last  stage,  (O  blessings  rarely  found  , 
Pleasant  as  youth  with  all  its  blossoms  cro'/n'd  ; 
Through  every  period  of  this  changeful  state 
Unchanged  thyself — wise,  good,  affectionate  ! 

Marble  may  flatter  ;  and  lest  this  should  seem 
O'ercharged  with  praises  on  so  dear  a  theme, 
Although  thy  worth  be  more  than  half  suppress'd, 
Love  shall  be  satisfied,  and  veil  the  rest. 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  THE  LATE  JOHN  THORN- 
TON,  ESQ,.  1790. 

POETS  attempt  the  noblest  task  they  can, 
Praising  the  Author  of  all  good  in  man  ; 
And,  next,  commemorating  worthies  lost, 
The  dead  in  whom  that  good  abounded  most. 

Thee,  therefore,  of  commercial  fame,  but  more 
Famed  ibr  thy  probity  from  shore  to  shore. 
Thee,  Thornton  !  worthy  in  some  page  to  shine, 
As  honest  and  more  eloquent  than  mine. 
I  mourn  ;  or,  since  thrice  happy  thou  must  be, 
The  world,  no  longer  thy  abode,  not  thee. 
Thee  to  deplore,  were  grief  mispent  indeed  ; 
It  were  to  weep  that  goodness  has  its  meed, 
That  there  is  bliss  prepared  in  yonder  sky, 


MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS.  489 

And  glory  for  the  virtuous  when  they  die. 

What  pleasure  can  the  miser's  fondled  hoard, 
Or  spendthrift's  prodigal  excess  afford, 
Sweet  as  the  privilege  of  healing  wo 
By  virtue  suffered  combatting  below  ? 
That  privilege  was  thine  ;  Heaven  gave  the  means 
To  illumine  with  delight  the  saddest  scenes, 
Till  thy  appearance  chased  the  gloom,  forlorn 
As  midnight,  and  despairing  of  a  morn. 
Thou  hadst  an  industry  in  doing  good, 
Restless  as  his  who  toils  and  sweats  for  food ; 
Avarice,  in  thee,  was  the  desire  of  wealth 
By  rust  imperishable  or  by  stealth ; 
And  if  the  genuine  worth  of  gold  depend 
On  application  to  its  noblest  end, 
Thine  had  a  value  in  the  scales  of  Heaven, 
Surpassing  all  that  mine  or  mint  had  given. 
And,  though  God  made  thee  of  a  nature  prone 
To  distribution  boundless  of  thy  own, 
And  still  by  motives  of  religious  force 
Impelled  the  more  to  that  heroic  course ; 
Yet  was  thy  liberality  discreet, 
Nice  in  its  choice,  and  of  a  temper'd  heal, 
And,  though  in  act  unwearied,  secret  still, 
As  in  some  solitude  the  summer  rill 
Refreshes,  where  it  winds,  the  faded  green, 
And  cheers  the  drooping  flowers,  unheard,  unseen. 

Such  was  thy  charity  ;  no  sudden  start, 
After  long  sleep,  of  passion  in  the  heart, 
But  steadfast  principle,  and,  in  its  kind, 
Of  close  relation  to  th'  Eternal  mind, 
Traced  easily  to  its  true  source  above, 
To  Him,  whose  works  bespeak  his  nature,  love. 

Thy  bounties  all  were  Christian,  and  I  make 
This  record  of  thee  for  the  Gospel's  sake  ; 
That  the  incredulous  themselves  may  see 
its  use  and  power  exemplified  in  thee. 


490  MISCELLANEOUS   POEMS. 


TO  A  YOUNG  FRIEND, 

ON   HIS   ARRIVING   AT   CAMBRIDGE    WET,     WHEN    NO   RAIN   HAD 
FALLEN    THERE, — 1793. 

IF  Gideon's  fleece,  which  drenched  with  dew  he 

found, 

While  moisture  none  refreshed  the  herbs  around, 
Might  fitly  represent  the  Church,  endow'd 
With  heavenly  gifts,  to  Heathens  not  allow'd  ; 
In  pledge,  perhaps,  of  favours  from  on  high, 
Thy  locks  were  wet  when  others'  locks  were  dry. 
Heaven  grant  us  half  the  ornen — may  we  see 
Not  drought  on  others,  but  much  dew  on  thee  ! 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  DR.  LLOYD. 

OUR  good  old  friend  is  gone,  gone  to  his  rest. 
Whose  social  converse  was  itself  a  feast. 
O  ye  of  riper  age,  who  recollect 
How  once  ye  loved,  and  eyed  him  with  respect, 
Roth  in  the  firmness  of  his  better  day, 
While  yet  he  ruled  you  with  a  father's  sway 
And  when  impaired  by  time  and  glad  to  rest, 
Yet  still  with  looks,  in  mild  complaisance  drest, 
He  took  his  annual  seat,  and  mingled  here 
His  sprightly  vein  with  yours — now  drop  a  tear. 
In  morals  blameless  as  in  manners  meek, 
He  knew  no  wish  that  he  might  blush  to  speak ; 
But,  happy  in  whatever  state  below 
And  richer  than  the  rich  in  being  so, 
Obtain'd  the  hearts  of  all,  and  such  a  meed 
At  length  from  One,*  as  made  him  rich  indeed. 
Hence  then,  ye  titles,  hence,  not  wanted  here, 
Go,  garnish  merit  in  a  brighter  sphere, 

*  He  was  usher  and  under-master  of  Westminster  near  fifty  years,  and 
retired  from  his  occupation  when  he  was  near  seventy,  with  a  handsome 
pension  from  the  king. 


MISCELLANEOUS    POEMS.  4b 

The  brows  of  those  whose  more  exalted  lot 
He  could  congratulate,  but  envied  not. 

Light  lie  the  turf,  good  Senior  !  on  thy  breast, 
And  tranquil  as  thy  mind  was,  be  thy  rest ! 
Though,  living,  thou  hadst  more  desert  than  fame, 
4  nd  not  a  stone  now  chronicles  thy  name. 


ON  FOP, 

A   DOG   BELONGING   TO    LADY   THROCKMORTON.     AUGUST,    1792 

THOUGH  once  a  puppy,  and  though  Fop  by  name, 

Here  moulders  One  whose  bones  some  honour  claim, 

No  sycophant,  although  of  spaniel  race, 

And  though  no  hound,  a  martyr  to  the  chase — 

Ye  squirrels,  rabits,  leverets,  rejoice, 

Your  haunts  no  longer  echo  to  his  voice ; 

This  record  of  his  fete  exulting  view, 

^e  died  worn  out  with  vain  pursuit  of  you. 

'Yes,'  the  indignant  shade  of  Fop  replies— 
And  worn  with  vain  pursuit  man  also  dies.* 


VHK   Btfl*. 


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